Rîn
by erunyauve
Summary: How did the people around Legolas 'make' the warrior? What are their stories? Eventual L-Gimli slash.
1. Letter of Innolas

**Author's Note:** This is an attempt to piece together a background for Legolas through the stories of the various people of importance in his life. I have made every effort to be true to what Tolkien did tell us about the elf, but obviously have invented quite a bit - the good Professor left much untold. We know nothing of his siblings. Regarding his mother, we can only guess that she was a Silvan elf, given that Legolas refers to himself as Silvan, though we know his father was Sindarin. We might suppose that by the time the dwarves were imprisoned by Thranduil, his wife had died or left for Tol Eressëa, as Bilbo would certainly have noticed her.   
  
Most of what we do know comes from _The Hobbit_ and _Unfinished Tales_ - Legolas said very little about his family (in fact, I believe he only refers once to his father, and calls him _'My Elven-lord'_).* In _Unfinished Tales_, we learn about his father and grandfather (Oropher) and their roots in Doriath; _LOTR_ suggests that they were kin to Celeborn. One other clue exists: Thranduil has golden hair in _The Hobbit_. While Tolkien did waffle a bit on the subject, at some point he seems to have been convinced that golden hair belonged exclusively to the Vanyar and to the Noldor among whom they intermarried. Thus, we might guess that Oropher's wife either came to Beleriand with the elves who fought the War of Wrath or was a descendent of Finarfin. I've gone with the latter possibility - his wife is the granddaughter of Angrod via a daughter I have invented. Nothing Tolkien wrote supports this, but it doesn't contradict anything he wrote, either. I have also written Oropher and Celeborn as cousins - as stated above, there is some hint that they were kin. [1]   
  
Be forewarned there will be slash - I take Gimli/Legolas to be nearly canonical. It is, however, only part of the story.   
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**The Letter of Innolas**  
  


_For six millennia I have walked in Ennor.* The task I set for myself as the New Age began is all but complete. All roads now lead to Mithlond and the faithful Círdan._ [2]   
  
_My father's realm remains strong, though outside it my people are now only fairy stories, and Eryn Lasgalen* can be found on no map plotted by man. This is deliberate, for the days of the Firstborn have passed, and we wish to avoid the strife among men. As Herdir Elrond* predicted, mankind has become ever more clever in the creation of instruments of destruction, and ever more inept in the making of peace._ [3, 4]   
  
_So that my people may not pass completely from the records of mortals, I have dedicated these many years to recording our history. Most of this work is now stored in the King's library in Gondor, for the Dúnedain alone among men are not wholly sundered from the elves.   
  
The remainder of this history is tied to my family and particularly my brother. It is my intention to pass through the Shire on my way to the Sea, and perhaps I will find a descendant of the hobbits with whom my brother walked, and thus preserve his place in the history of Middle Earth. If this letter and the attached vignettes have fallen into your hands, unknown reader, know that the elf concerned was as courageous and noble as any of the Calaquendi of the Elder Days.   
  
As for me, I shall have passed over the Sea.   
  
Innolas Thranduilion, e-mbar Lasgalen_ [5]   
  


* * *

  
[1] 'My Elven-lord'  

    (ref. _LOTR_, p 935 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[2] _Ennor_  

    Middle-Earth  
  

[3] _Eryn Lasgalen_  

    Wood of Greenleaf, the name given to Mirkwood by Thranduil and Celeborn after the War of the Ring  
  

[4] _Herdir Elrond_  

    Master Elrond  
  

[5] _Innolas Thranduilion, e-mbar Lasgalen_  

    Innolas son of Thranduil, of the House of Lasgalen - I have taken _Lasgalen_ to be the name chosen by Oropher's father to represent his descendants - perhaps it was one of his father's names  



	2. Innolas

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**Innolas**  
  


Legolas absently twisted a flaxen braid around his finger as his eyes wandered from his books. Across the river, where the beeches thinned to a natural clearing, he saw the stable hands open the paddock gates. Enviously, he watched as the horses frolicked in the open fields. His brother's voice brought him back to the hated Quenya case endings, the bane of his short life.   
  
"Come, _muindor dithen_, if you would but keep your mind on your studies, you would spend less time at letters," Innolas chided. [1]   
  
It did not occur to the younger elf to question the value of a dead language; he was an elf, one of the Eldar, and he must learn the High Elvish. Yet, language did not come easily to Legolas - by nature he was quiet and reserved, and rarely spoke unless he had something of importance to say. He was much happier with a bow in his hand than a book.   
  
The two brothers could not have been more different, yet they were close. Innolas loved language; the joy of finding the perfect word he likened to the satisfaction of making the perfect shot at the archery range. To him, Thranduil had given the task of representing Northern Mirkwood before the outside world. Fluent in many tongues, he understood the weight of a single word in the art of diplomacy. Such attributes proved invaluable in relations between Thranduil's realm and the merchants and fiefdoms with whom they had contact.   
  
Nominally his father's heir, Innolas privately thanked the Valar that the King had no wish to pass his duties on to his son. In this, Innolas and Legolas were much alike. The younger elf had little inclination to lead others, and sought solitude rather than join in the merriment at feasts and celebrations. Often, Innolas wondered what niche his brother would find in life; unlike their cousin, he would not be Captain of the Guard; unlike Innolas, he would find little joy in the study of lore.  
  
Then again, Innolas had never intended to become a historian and linguist for his people and for the Silvan Elves. As a young elf, he had studied with Elrond Peredhel, surpassed in his knowledge of lore only by Pengolodh. Yet though the libraries of Imladris enchanted him, he soon saw that they lacked breadth. The Noldor had written the stories of Arda, and so such stories mostly concerned the Noldor. The achievements of his own family were but footnotes, and the history and language of their Silvan subjects nearly ignored.  
  
Innolas sighed, running agitated fingers through his hair. Quenya simply lacked meaning for his brother. Legolas had learned the tongue of his mother's people readily - a language that lacked a word for the Great Sea but possessed hundreds of words for the living things of the forest. What use had Wood Elves for a word describing a Sea they did not intend to cross? Even less had they use for lore written by elves whose hearts had been left on the far shores of that Sea.  
  
"Legolas, there are forty words for tree bark in Silvan and you know all of them, so it cannot be impossible for you to learn the cases of the word _'alda'_." [2]   
  
"Aye, but there are not so many endings for each of those forty words," the young elf replied glumly. The youngster had exasperated half a dozen tutors before Thranduil gave the task to Innolas. The older elf soon found that his greatest challenge lay in keeping his brother's attention fixed on his books, for his natural curiosity often led his mind to wander to subjects of greater interest. Legolas could sit completely still in a tree for hours and watch a bird make her nest. Innolas would have been pleased to capture a fraction of that attention during lessons.   
  
At last, _Anor_ reached her highest point, and neither brother regretted the end of the lesson. "I think we shall go to Dale tomorrow, if Galion has the order ready," Innolas announced as they stood up. The errand would give Legolas some practice in the Westron tongue, though he was shy of speaking to the merchants. The younger elf was delighted, as rarely did his father allow him to journey outside their realm. Better still, the journey meant several nights away from the palace and its gloomy rooms of stone, for which the young elf had no love. He could not have been in better spirits as he ran off to find Brónalm for his archery lesson. [3]   
  


* * *

  
[1] _muindor dithen_  

    little brother  
  

[2] _alda_  

    tree (Q)  
  

[3] _Anor_  

    the Sun  



	3. Bronalm

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**Brónalm**  
  


Brónalm helped the youngster to make a slight adjustment in his grip, then stood back, satisfied, as the arrow flew true to its mark.   
  
Between the two lay more than the mutual respect of a gifted student and a great master, for they shared not only a love for archery but also great reverence for the woods around them. A friendship of equals had developed, this despite a vast difference in age and worldly knowledge. Brónalm was so old he had begun to develop lines around his eyes (for elves _do_ age, though quite slowly). He was the only elf who could remember the days when his people had come to this forest in response to the call of the Valar, and he had trained every archer in the realm.   
  
From a time when the elves did not measure time, when they knew only the twilight of Varda's silvery stars, Brónalm had wandered the great expanse of Ennor. His own kin had long ago sailed to Alqualondë, but loyalty had turned him from that path, and he remained with Lenwë when that lord left the Great March. From his wanderings he returned with tales of Beleriand and tidings of their kindred in the western lands, and in the Middle Years he led Oropher to _Eryn Galen_, recognizing Legolas' grand-sire as the rightful heir to Lenwë.* He had served Oropher and his son devotedly since that time. [1, 2]   
  
Yet this little one he held especially dear, for Legolas was not only the son of his King, but one of Brónalm's own people, the child of a daughter of the forest. He had vowed that the child would know the language and ways of his mother's people, and having sired no children of his own, he found great fulfillment in this task. Brónalm had come to be a loremaster by experience rather than study of dusty tomes, and of him young Legolas learned to speak with the trees in the ancient tongue of Lenwë's people and to sing the lays that told of all the Silvan folk had seen and done.   
  
Moreover, the young elf took to his beloved bow like a dwarf to gold. Legolas could not wield a full-sized bow, for he had not yet attained his final height, but he could easily best most of the archers in the King's guard. In this, he was clearly his mother's child, for she had been a great warrior, one who had fought in Mordor and a favored student of the bow-master in her youth.   
  
Indeed, the little Sinda had a Silvan heart - perhaps more so than Brónalm could have wished, for he shared with his mother's people another trait - unease when underground, in caves such as the palatial caverns of his father. Of late, Brónalm had noticed a subtle change in the child. The youngster often looked tired and perhaps a bit thinner than he should be. Elven dreams were more precious to the elven mind than the rest they afforded the body. Without them, an elf's senses became blunted and his thoughts disordered. Legolas possessed a joyful soul and a light disposition, and it saddened the master to see the child labor under the weight of stolen dreamtime.   
  
Had Legolas been able to consult his mother, he might have understood the dread that came over him at night. From his father he had inherited his blond locks and noble bearing; from his mother came more than her dark eyes and delicate features - he shared her love for living things and star shine. She could not abide Thranduil's caverns, and her blood ran true in the veins of her son. The harsh winter just passed had kept him too often confined to the palace, and had awakened the passions that lay dormant in his soul.   
  
Brónalm resolved to speak to Thranduil about his son, and after the lesson found the King in the Great Hall, finalizing the order with Galion for the journey to Dale. When the butler took his leave, the King turned his attention to the ancient elf, nodding his head with respect for the age and wisdom of the _Cúcherdir_. [3]   
  
"How does my son progress under your instruction?" Thranduil asked, adding, "Would that he paid as much attention to his brother's tutelage." In truth, he took much pride in his youngest child's prowess with the bow. Legolas was the joy of his life, not least because he was the only child by a wife he had dearly loved. The youngster's wonder at the world around him was refreshing among world-weary immortals, and Thranduil found that through the eyes of his son, he relived the wonder of his own childhood, long ago buried in the ruin of Doriath.   
  
"He will be the finest archer in the realm 'ere long, save yourself, of course. But I would speak of your son, if I may - there is a matter that weighs on me."   
  
"You flatter me, old Brónalm, for we both know Legolas can already best me as an archer. But what is your trouble?"   
  
The bow-master paused to choose his words carefully. "I worry for the child. He is not thriving as he should; I believe that he sleeps poorly in the palace. It is not healthy for his spirit to be separated from living things." The elf hesitated before putting forth his somewhat brazen suggestion. "It would be no burden to share my hut with the youngster, if it would ease his mind."   
  
The King considered this gravely. Such a thing was not quite fitting for a noble son of the Eldar. Yet Legolas was also a child of the _Tawarwaith_. He would hardly ask his people to abandon their huts among the beeches - how could he ask such a thing of his child? [4]   
  
He did not regret his decision to make his home in the caverns. In times of great danger, the caverns were a refuge for his people. Moreover, it comforted the King, who had lost so many loved ones, to know that those dear to him were safe within the strong walls. Still, he could not see how the young elf could have a better guard than the great bow-master. He trusted Brónalm as he trusted his family. "I will allow it," Thranduil announced abruptly. "He is to go to Dale with Innolas tomorrow, so I will speak to him on his return."   
  


* * *

  
[1] _Eryn Galen_  

    lit. 'Greenwood', 'Greenwood the Great' being the original name of Mirkwood  
  

[2] 'recognizing Legolas' grand-sire as the rightful heir to Lenwë'  

    In the prequel to this story, Oropher's mother is Lenwë's sister.  
  

[3] _Cúcherdir_  

    Bow-master  
  

[4] _Tawarwaith_  

    Collective plural for the Silvan Elves; lit. 'forest folk'  



	4. Thranduil

**Author's Notes:** I've taken a somewhat AU stance on the Laws and Customs of the Eldar. It seems a bit unrealistic to the modern reader to expect thousands of years of chastity from widowed or unmarried elves. Thus, I take conception to be the making of a marriage not otherwise bound.   
  
The movie sets Legolas' age at 3,000+, but there is no particular reason for this. The only certainty is that he is over 500 years old at the time of the War of the Ring. He could be over 3,000 years old, but Michael L. Martinez makes an argument for a much younger Legolas, hypothesizing that he might have been born near the end of the Watchful Peace, in Third Age 2460. Thus, he would have been around 550 years old when he joined the Fellowship. For reasons better explained by Martinez in 'Speaking of Legolas' (www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/36517), and because it simplifies the story, I have set his birth c. 2460.   
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**Thranduil**  
  


'There is too much of the mother in the son,' the King mused, wincing at this disloyalty to his lost wife. Guilt concerning that lady often assailed him, though he knew her fate had been decided before her birth, even before he and his father had crossed _Hithaeglir_ to live among the Silvan folk. Thus, he had accepted Brónalm's unusual solution to his son's plight; though he could not have avoided the mistakes he had made with his wife, he would not repeat them with his son. [1]   
  
He had taken to wife a strong and sensible daughter of the Falathrim in the early part of the Middle Years. Berinaeth had proved to be everything he and his father's people had needed. They had been fond of one another, and he still missed her wise counsel. Yet she had not been the one who could stir his love. Too late, he had found the fëa that perfectly matched his. In defiance of the Law, he had taken two wives; by the strange and sometimes cruel will of the Valar, he had buried two wives.   
  
A single, clear droplet fell to his sleeve. Brushing his hand across his cheek, the elf found his skin wet, though he had not noticed his tears. With time, pain had faded to a dull ache. The King had a realm to lead, a family to love. Yet at moments unforeseen, the wound, never fully healed, throbbed as if it might cleave his heart in two. With the crystalline recall of a moment so poignant that time itself stopped, he woke anew to the grey morning of Tórasin's death. He saw again the unnatural stillness of his beloved, her corpse already fading; he met again the eyes of his sister-son, who found no words to tell what his search party had discovered.   
  
The House of Lasgalen knew loss. Hardly a century of Thranduil's life had passed before his mother died at the hands of Caranthir. The war against Sauron exacted a terrible price upon his family and his people. As the Fading Years began, only his sister's children and second son remained of his father's busy household. Too few of his warriors returned from Mordor. His own grief did not so absorb Thranduil that he could not feel the anguish of the survivors among his people. He returned from the war as their King, and the well being of his folk permitted him little grace for his own sorrow.   
  
A part of Oropher's heart had grieved unremittingly for his beloved wife, and he had known that he would pass from Ennor by death or by Sea when his longing for Anórieth grew to be more than he could bear. Thus, he had raised his son to succeed him, and his heir had never disappointed him. In temperament well suited to the vocation he inherited, Thranduil found that his duty to his people relieved him of dark thoughts and sorrow. His work became his pleasure and his refuge.   
  
Though stubborn at times, he possessed an essentially kind and honorable nature. As the Firstborn faded, first into their memories and then into the Sea, Thranduil remained rooted to Ennor. He delighted in the sensual, a connoisseur of wine, feast and maiden. His great love for precious stones and other lovely things drew accusations of greed from his enemies, but he valued such baubles for their beauty rather than their worth.* If one found his appearance or his caverns more opulent than expected in the Wilderness, the fault lay in the observer rather than the observed. Few historians had been kind to the Silvan Elves and their Sindarin kings, rejecting the first as savages and ignoring the latter. [2]   
  
The Silvan folk were hardly savages. They preferred plain thatched huts and high perches in the trees to the grand buildings of the Noldor, but did not lack for a culture of their own. To hear their voices lifted in song could make the coldest heart weep - Daeron, the storied minstrel of Thingol, numbered among their kindred who followed Denethor into Beleriand.* Nor were they unlettered,* for the runes Daeron made had been long in use by the _Penni_. [3, 4, 5]   
  
Like his father, Thranduil had a deep love and respect for his people - they approached the world with a child-like curiosity, and so remained a merry folk, even in the Fading Years. They were not inclined to interrupt their play in the trees for hard work, and so trade had great importance to Thranduil's realm, more so since the shadow had fallen over the forest. Ties born of trade now proved essential to the defense of his realm.   
  
For all he had sacrificed in the war had come to naught. The Dark Lord not only survived, but took their old citadel at Amon Lanc for his dwellings. Moving north before the blight that twisted the forest into an enemy, Thranduil settled under the eaves of Mirkwood along the Forest River. He built a palace under the earth, with an entrance protected by magic, and held tight to the only free lands of the once-great Eryn Galen.   
  
Into this dark time, when his rule weighed heaviest upon the King, had come a Silvan maid to capture his heart. All reason fled, for no wisdom may conquer where love has gained the upper hand. He would listen neither to his son's warning that he must not make a wife of the maid, nor to Brónalm's fears that her Silvan heart could not be content in his caverns, nor even to Tórasin's sense that love might not overcome the vast difference in their circumstances. By patient courtship he overcame her objections, and she took his hand and the title of _Dîs-e-gûr_. With the advent of the Watchful Peace, many folk hoped their King would finally reap the happiness he had sowed in long service and devotion to his people. Still, one wish, that dearest to his heart, remained unfulfilled. [6]   
  
That wish he kept for another child, for of all the losses he had suffered in the war, that of his eldest son had grieved him most. Yet by the sharing of his seed would Tórasin be bound to him, not merely as companion but as wife by the Laws of the Eldar. His desire proved greater than fear of the Valar; he knew only joy when his lady announced they would have a child in late winter. His happiness soon turned to sorrow. Tórasin withered in the dark, lifeless palace. The creatures of the wood, the trees, the light of the stars - these were as vital to the Silvan soul as water to drink and food to eat. Her long lying-in prior to the birth of their child wholly unhinged her. Her suffering was beyond Thranduil's Sindarin understanding - he could only hope that the baby's birth and coming of spring would heal her mind.   
  
It was not to be, for greater powers were at work. The child came at last, but the mother gave up her life in his bearing. The King sank into a grief so terrible, Innolas worried his father would fade from existence. The child Thranduil had wanted so badly brought him no comfort then, and his second son feared for the tiny baby. Children had become a curiosity among the Firstborn. The Eldar knew that their purchase on Ennor was fading, while the Wood Elves, less concerned with fading (for their destiny, they claimed, was not that of the Eldar),* were nonetheless unnerved by the lengthening shadow over Mirkwood. They did not bear children in times of uncertainty. No wet-nurse could they find among their own people, and Innolas knew the child would not survive without a mother's milk. [7]   
  
Knowing not where else to turn, the elf-lord decided to send his small brother to Rhosgobel. He hoped that _Aiwendil_ would have some guidance - the Maia's knowledge of herbs surpassed even the Wise among the Silvan folk, and perhaps he could concoct something that would feed the child. [8]   
  
"Go swiftly, Mitharas," Innolas urged, handing the baby to his cousin.   
  
The baby gave a contented little sigh at his cousin's familiar smell as Mitharas settled him into a pouch slung around his neck. "As fast as the horses can travel," he promised. Súlvara gave a snort and tossed his head. The elven horse knew the gravity of the situation and was eager to be gone. "You say four days to Rhosgobel, Súlvara? I think that a little fast."   
  
Innolas smiled. "I suspect he thinks of you and your party as naught but useless weight, and would as soon take the baby to Aiwendil himself."   
  
"Aye, and Aiwendil most likely understands horse quite well. Yet the little one is not yet a rider, so you will have to suffer my weight, Súlvara." He patted the horse affectionately. "_Ego aen men! Tirio anim ned eraid uiug_." With that, the elf signaled to his party and the horses left at a fast trot. [9]  
  


**~~~**  
  


As for Tórasin, she does not wholly pass out of the history, but the remainder of her story belongs to another tale.   
  


* * *

  
[1] _Hithaeglir_  

    Misty Mountains  
  

[2] 'he valued such baubles for their beauty rather than their worth'  

    This idea belongs to T.A. Shippey: _'There is in the final chapters _[of The Hobbit]_ a continuum of greed. Least reprehensible is the Elvenking's: he likes artefacts, but for their beauty, and is satisfied in the end with the emeralds of Girion.'_ (ref. T.A. Shippey, _The Road to Middle-Earth_, p 80 pub. Harper-Collins)  
  

[3] 'Daeron, the storied minstrel of Thingol, numbered among their kindred who followed Denethor into Beleriand'  

    In fact, the Green Elves of Beleriand called themselves the Lindi, the Singers. Briefly, for those who have not read _The Silmarillion_: on the Great March of the elves from their birthplace to the shores of Beleriand, Lenwë left Olwë's host and settled in Greenwood the Great. Later Lenwë's son, Denethor, took some of those elves to Beleriand, and many ended up in Doriath. Among these were Daeron and the evil Saeros. In my little corner of the Tolkien world, Oropher became associated with the Green Elves when he lived in Doriath and brought some of them back to Greenwood with him around 1000 of the Second Age.  
  

[4] 'Nor were they unlettered'  

    Another Tolkien contradiction - we are told in _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' that the Silvan folk had no written language, but in _The Treason of Isengard_, Tolkien ties Daeron's runes to those of the Green Elves. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 270 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey; _The Treason of Isengard_, 'Appendix on Runes' p 460 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[5] _Penni_  

    Silvan Elves (Nandorin) - lit. 'the people'; this was the name they used for themselves. (ref. _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 410 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[6] _Dîs-e-gûr_  

    Bride of the heart  
  

[7] 'for their destiny, they claimed, was not that of the Eldar'  

    It seems rather unfair that fading, a punishment of the rebellious Noldor, should apply equally to the innocent Sindar and Avari. The Sindar, perhaps, did not suffer from fading quite as the Noldor did - we know that Celeborn, Thranduil and Círdan outlasted the Noldor. As for the Avari, it is my own rather fanciful idea (though inspired by Tolkien's fays of the wood, found in _Lost Tales_), that they remained in Middle-Earth as wood sprites.  
  

[8] _Aiwendil_  

    Radagast (Q)  
  

[9] "_Ego aen men! Tirio anim ned eraid uiug_."  

    Let us be off! Watch for me in twelve days.  



	5. Viduwyn

**Author's Notes:** I generally try to avoid reading other fics with similar subjects when I'm in the middle of something, but Nilmandra's 'May the Valar protect them' was just too good to put on the waiting list. I've consciously tried to avoid similarities between her story and this chapter, but there are apt to be a few, as both concern a cute little motherless elf.   
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Viduwyn, obviously, is mine. Folcagard, Forod'lad and Dunnadór are also my inventions. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter. Translation of the naming ceremony follows the Sindarin, since it's a rather long block of text. I've moved the chapter with a more precise translation and grammatical notes to the end of this chapter to comply with ff.net rules.  
  


**Viduwyn**  
  


Súlvara traced his proud lineage to the pastures of Yavanna, where his distant kin still roamed wild. His ancestors had made the treacherous crossing of the Helcaraxë, and like their masters, the survivors of the journey were a hardy breed. Sensing the gravity of their mission, he set a swift pace for his brethren, and elves and horses alike hardly rested until they reached Rhosgobel.  
  
A great bear of a man hailed the elves in Sindarin and Westron. "_Suilannad, sílelphin!_ Greetings, shining ones!" [1]   
  
"We are in dire need of Aiwendil, whom men call Radagast. Is he within?"   
  
"Nay, m'lord," the man said, shaking his head, his bushy beard and thick black mane flying to and fro as he did so. "There is sickness in the south of the Vale, and he was called away to help the folk there, as he might."   
  
Mitharas' heart sank. "Do you know exactly where he went?"   
  
" 'Twas runners from Folcagard who brought the news - you might look thither."   
  
Folcagard! The little hamlet lay far to the south, west of the _Loeg Ningloron_ - another two days' journey, if their horses could continue their quick pace. Yet the elf-lord saw no alternative - he only hoped they would arrive in time to save his little cousin. Where a mortal baby would have perished, the tiny elf yet endured. Still, the child's cries had weakened to soft mewling. As the other elves set up camp, Mitharas gave the baby a cloth soaked in miruvor to suckle, though it would do little but comfort the child. [2]   
  
Bornom, for that was his name, came to take a closer look at the baby. "An elf-baby! An' he has the wee little ears of your folk," the man observed.   
  
"Would you hold him for me?" Mitharas asked, guessing that the man wished to do just that. "I must see to my horse."   
  
An enormous smile spread across Bornom's face, and he took the child eagerly. His cousin, Mitharas observed with some amusement, could nearly fit in the Beorning's saucer-sized palm. Yet for his great size, Bornom was gentle as a deer, and the baby did not seem at all disturbed by this strange man.   
  
Mitharas began to groom his horse, listening to the man as he sang to the baby in the ancient tongue of his people, a language not unlike the Nandorin language of the Silvan folk. The Beornings were good neighbors, though the elves of Northern Mirkwood saw less of them since Thranduil had moved his folk from the _Emyn Duir_ to the caverns. Brónalm held them in great respect, and Innolas, who made frequent trips to Imladris, had found in them a treasure trove of ancient memory. Their oral tradition of songs kept much of their past alive. Mitharas' guard, ranging far afield, often consulted with the Beornings, for they kept watch on the mountains and knew before any when orcs were again growing strong. Their friendship with Aiwendil came from a mutual love of bird and beast, and it is rare to find evil in the hearts of those who cherish the innocent creatures of Arda. [3]   
  
Early the next morning, still under the light of Ithil, the elves set out for the Old Ford - they would cross there and continue south on the western bank of the Anduin, for the river could not be crossed at the _Ninglor_. The water slowed as it bogged in the marshes of the _Loeg Ningloron_, and an elf or horse might swim the wide river at that point, but they could not do so with a baby in the company. Mitharas would not have chosen this route except by necessity, as the mostly deforested west bank offered little protection from orcs. [4, 5]   
  
By luck or by will of the Valar, they reached Folcagard without incident, two days after leaving Rhosgobel. No memory of men could recall the last time an elf had set foot in the village. Increasingly isolated as men fled the Vale of Anduin after the occupation of Dol Guldur, the townsfolk spoke an archaic language that even their distant cousins in Framsburg would no longer recognize, and they had become wary, unused to strangers. Mitharas could not make his purpose understood, and the men at the gates refused to let them pass. Now he regretted that they had not dared to try Hithaeglir and its late winter snows; it was too late to make for Imladris. Too weak to cry, the baby had no time left to him. "Alas, little one, only the grace of Elbereth can help you now!" he whispered to his cousin. In answer to his plea, the gates opened.   
  
"The Lady hears all who cry to her," Aiwendil greeted them. They followed him to the tavern in which he had found lodging during his stay, and as they went, Mitharas explained their need to him. The Maia thought deep and long, as was the habit of his kind, until he had exhausted the legendary patience of the elves - and Mitharas certainly had less of this than most of his kindred.   
  
Finally, he spoke again. "There indeed exists an old herbal remedy, but I think I have a better solution, if the woman is willing. Come."   
  
The house was simple but well kept, with a freshly swept doorstep and shutters thrown open to the fresh air. The mortals inside had little time or money to spare for decoration, but had yet enough pride to keep their dwelling in good repair.   
  
"Tarry here a moment. I would speak to the woman first." The elves waited in the muddy street. To the gaze of mortals staring unabashedly at the strangers, the elves appeared still and silent, almost detached from their surroundings. Yet Mitharas' eyes missed nothing, and had one asked him to describe the village, he could have done so in perfect detail and with far better recall than the gawking folk of the village.   
  
Radagast found the household of Dukalan quiet, yet hardly idle. The younger members, he guessed, would be helping their father. Only Dukalan's wife and the oldest daughter, a too-serious girl of twelve, remained within.   
  
Viduwyn was young yet, not much more than thirty, but her careworn face belonged to an older woman. Yet, unless one looked closely at her eyes, one would not guess that she had buried her youngest just yestereve, a casualty of the fever that had brought Radagast to her village. Her loss was but one more grief in a life of hardship. Mourning, Viduwyn thought, was for folk with time on their hands, and little she had of that to spare. Thus, she had pushed her husband out the door that morning, for the chores would not wait, and she had taken up her work. Her oldest daughter had outgrown her dress and Viduwyn decided that the dress had more need of length than the tablecloth; the table's legs would not complain of cold. Abarath was growing like a weed, and there would be neither new cloth nor money to buy it until the trade caravans came to town in late spring.   
  
Her neighbors thought her ill favored, for of seven children, Viduwyn had borne six girls. Girls required dowries; girls would not support their parents in their decline. She had lost her son to the river, a strange drowning in the Gladden Fields. Illness had taken two daughters. Yet Viduwyn thought her fortunes no more unhappy than those of her neighbors. She knew more laughter than sorrow, and in love she was richer than most.   
  
She had married well - Dukalan was a good man, with little taste for drink and an easy disposition. He had followed wandering feet into life with the traders when he was not much more than a boy. A score of years passed, and he returned to his village to find that the bothersome little girl he had once known had grown into a fine young woman, plain perhaps by some standards, but known as a hard worker with a quick mind. Love had rooted his restless feet to the hearth, and he had not regretted his choice. A loquacious man who loved nothing better than to spin a tale, Dukalan never tired of relating his adventures among the various peoples of the Wilderland to his family. Elves fascinated him. "Ah, you should hear them sing!" he sighed. "And honest folk, they are, never haggling to the last in their dealings."   
  
Now Abarath hurried to warm the kettle for tea as Viduwyn put aside her sewing. The Elder refused to take her chair, and explained his errand. Viduwyn's sorrows had not so hardened her that she could not feel those of others, and her heart wept for the motherless baby. With her assent, then, Radagast beckoned to those waiting in the street. A tall creature ducked under the doorframe, holding a tiny bundle in his arms. From her husband's tales, Viduwyn guessed that this strange visitor was one of the ancient folk of the forest. She had certainly never before seen any being so beautiful, who glowed as if lit by a light within. [6]   
  
The elf laid the bundle in her arms, and she had a moment of fear; the baby was very white and still. Then the child's eyes opened, dark grey pools of pleading. She could not save her own little one, but perhaps she could give this child a chance to live.   
  
"This baby is the son of their king," Radagast explained, thinking it best that he prepare her for such a great change in circumstance. "They will want you to return with them to Northern Mirkwood, and it is a fair journey, good lady, and you will be gone long from your home."   
  
The elves would pay her generously, she knew. Their means did not permit her to overlook this practical benefit. More sheep, another cow, such things would ease their struggle with the forces of fate and nature. Moreover, truth be told, she was eager to see the elf-realm of which her husband so often spoke. With these thoughts in mind, she bid a tender farewell to her husband and entrusted her household to Abarath, and with but a day to prepare for her long absence, she left Folcagard for the first time in her life.   
  
Viduwyn guessed that the elf who had brought the baby to her - Mitharas, Radagast had named him - was the leader of the party, for although all wore the dark brown and grayish-green of winter, his cloak was elegantly embroidered with a device depicting four golden trees. He wished for a swift return to Mirkwood, and so they traveled almost without rest through the day and into the night. She expected that he would hand care of the infant over to her, as would any male of her own race, but he continued to carry the baby in his cloak, relinquishing his precious cargo only during brief stops to allow the baby to nurse. Viduwyn struggled to remain awake as the night passed. The elf with whom she rode seemed to take notice and rode up to speak to Mitharas in their strange tongue. The blond elf glanced at her apologetically. "_Daro! Sí dorthannem i vôr hen!_" he told the company, who stopped to make camp. [7]   
  
The elves groomed their horses or took up watch. There would be no fire tonight. Viduwyn needed no warning of orcs in the mountains, for the foul creatures had been a grief to Folcagard in recent years. When she had fed the baby, the blond elf again took the child from her, and she heard his sweet voice softly croon a lullaby. The elves not on watch lay down, and she could swear that their eyes remained open, though they appeared to sleep.   
  
They were up and riding before dawn. The day warmed to a pleasant early spring, and the baby for a time poked his head out of Mitharas' cloak, looking about him. To her astonishment, Viduwyn heard the little baby voice mimicking the lullaby the tall elf had sung to him. She did not know then, of course, that elven babies learned to sing long before they spoke.   
  
Once they had crossed the great river into the woods, the elves deemed it safe to light a fire at night, though the warriors seemed uneasy. They stopped at times to listen to the forest and looked balefully into the gloom that settled among the trees at night. They spoke in worried tones to their leader, who plainly shared their distress.   
  
They passed into the realm of Thranduil late one afternoon. The inhabitants of Dunnadór turned out to meet the returning party, curious to see their king's new son. One elf, aged as even Viduwyn could see by the faint lines in her face, stepped forward, and with some reverence, Mitharas laid the baby in her arms. The two spoke together for some time, the old elf tearful, yet with a look of resignation Viduwyn knew too well. So elves, too, had their sorrows. At some point, they spoke of her, for the female looked her over thoughtfully.   
  
Returning her great-granddaughter's son to Mitharas, Phingés held the mortal woman's face between her long, gentle hands. "She has a good heart," she announced. "The baby will keep a part of her in his _phá_. He will be a friend to the Aftercomers." [8]   
  
Viduwyn understood nothing of the ancient elf's words, but gathered that she had earned the approval of the matriarch. They passed the night in Dunnadór, and set out early for Forod'lad. The village surrounding the caverns of the King was hardly bigger than Folcagard, for it was inhabited mainly by those who worked for the King. Even to Viduwyn's untrained eye, the elves here looked somewhat different from those she had met in Dunnadór and those who accompanied Mitharas. Wood Elves, she would learn, did not like to be underground, nor were they disposed to regular work. They lived as warriors, guarding the realm of their King, or by their crafts of woodcarving and weaving of cloth. They kept orchards of apple and peach trees and gathered nuts and berries. Many who lived along the Forest River were fisher folk. The elves who worked in the caverns were the Sindar and their descendants who had come east with Oropher in days long past. These folk had hair of ashen brown and eyes of a pale silver-grey, in contrast to the rich, dark brown tresses and granite-colored eyes of the Silvan Elves. Many had of yore lived in Doriath, and from that storied realm came the old butler Galion and his mate Brúniel, healer and nursemaid to the House of Lasgalen.   
  
Life at the palace was both exotic and bewildering for Viduwyn. She spoke little Westron and less Elvish, and even Innolas knew little of her tongue. Brúniel had care of the baby, and the nurse watched over her charge with the ferocity of a bear guarding her cubs. Viduwyn thus had much time on her hands, as she was needed only to feed the baby.   
  
At first, she remained shyly in the nursery or her room nearby, but soon boredom and curiosity got the better of her and she began to explore the caverns. No one seemed to mind this, so she grew bolder. Having visited the Great Hall and grand entrance and peeked into some of the family's rooms, she ventured further afield, visiting the storerooms and halls of artifacts. The Master of the Vault graciously invited her to see the King's jewel collection. Viduwyn wished she understood his language better, for each piece, it seemed, had a story attached to it, and her guide, as much a curator as a guard, eagerly shared his tales.   
  
The kitchens soon became a favorite place, for this was the domain of Gíleg. The cook was always happy to provide a cup of tea and a taste of his latest innovation. He liked to talk, as much as the gregarious bird from whom he took his epessë, and minded not that she understood only part of what he said. Indeed, he chattered amiably to all, whether they would listen or no: his staff, the King, his cooking pots. Only his work did he approach with any seriousness. A hectic production of drama, song and dance lay behind the seamless grand feasts of Thranduil's halls, and the good-natured cook transformed into a stern taskmaster at such times. Gíleg was constantly at odds with old Galion, hiding his supplies in fear that he would fall short of some needed ingredient. The butler tried to discover Gíleg's hoard before he made out the order for the merchants of Dale, but nonetheless often purchased some item of which the cook, in Galion's opinion, had already adequate stores. It could safely be said that Thranduil need never want for salt, for his kitchens now possessed five small barrels of the stuff. On occasion, Galion would visit the pantry to shake his head sadly over these barrels, but the cook would not allow him to trade the valuable salt for more needed supplies.   
  
In fine weather, Viduwyn often accompanied the nurse and her charge in a turn around the garden. The baby was a sweet thing, generally content, as all Elven babies are, not being subject to colic or colds that trouble mortal infants, but he seemed happiest outdoors. He harassed butterflies and earthworms and any other creature that came within his reach, singing quietly to himself, his small face a vision of joy.   
  
"Do all baby elves sing so?" Viduwyn asked.   
  
Brúniel shrugged. "I daresay, though not all so sweetly as this one. They sing when they are content, and as they grow, they begin to mimic the melody of speaking voices, and so learn to speak properly."  
  
Already a year had passed since she had come to Northern Mirkwood, and a great feast was to be held in honor of the baby's second conception day. The child had begun to make words, and Thranduil knew his son must soon have a name. At the feast, he had decided, he would announce the baby's name, though he had not yet found one that would fit the child.  
  
Still vexed by this name-making as the appointed day drew ever nearer, the King came to the pleasant glade above the caverns in search of his son, hoping for inspiration. "Ada!" the baby shouted with delight, holding up his arms to his father. The golden-haired elf swept the child into his arms and seated him in his lap.   
  
"Ai, _ionen bigen_, whatever shall we do for a name for you?" he asked the tiny elf.   
  
"Is it…the norm for a little one to go so long without a name?" Viduwyn asked, in her halting Sindarin.  
  
The King frowned and the woman feared she had offended him. "Not at all. I had thought to give him a name after my father, but when my lady passed from this realm," he paused, his eyes sorrowful, "it was not the time for a naming ceremony. Yet elf-children have two names, one of the father and one of the mother. The mother-name is very important, for it is often prophetic, or a sign of a child's character. As this little one shall have no mother-name, I have put much thought into his father-name."   
  
Viduwyn listened intently. "But can you not give him two names?"   
  
Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "I had not thought of that. It would perhaps be right, for such a strange circumstance." He stood, handing his son to the woman as he rose. "_Hennaid evyr, le edregol vaer!_" With this exclamation the King hurried off. [9]   
  
"Nothing like this have we seen since Mitharas was named - and that was before the war in Mordor," Brúniel confided some days later. The nurse, who usually reserved her smiles for the baby she so adored, had a sparkle in her eyes.   
  
"The war in Mordor! But was that not in ancient days?" Viduwyn questioned.   
  
"Hardly ancient to the Firstborn. Yet even the trees do not remember such a time." Brúniel returned to her task, the embroidering of tiny gold leaves of beech on the little cloak the baby would wear at his naming ceremony.   
  
Viduwyn watched as the elf's fingers flew, yet somehow managed to make the smallest of stitches. If Mitharas' naming ceremony had taken place so very long ago, then the elf-lord, who she had thought her junior, was…well, very old. "Then the King must be still more ancient," she murmured.   
  
Brúniel laughed. "Aye, and I can recall his naming ceremony. Yet to Brónalm I am but a young _bess_. And Círdan at the Havens is older than any elf in Ennor. You will likely meet him at the feast." [10]   
  
Thranduil had sent doves far and wide with invitations. Some, such as those destined for Dorwinion and Mithlond, would bring together kin too long sundered. Nórui, sister to Mitharas, had not made this journey since she had bound herself to an Avarin elf from the great vineyards. Círdan rarely left his beloved sea, yet his heart warned him that he would not soon have another chance to see his eastern kin. Other messages were bound for kin long estranged. Celeborn and Galadriel would come from Lórien, to Viduwyn's great interest. The folk of her village had long whispered about the Golden Wood and its secretive people; some proclaimed the lady a sorceress of terrible power. [11]   
  
Two days before the feast, Galion came to the nursery with an urgent summons from Thranduil. Viduwyn followed the butler anxiously, hoping that she had done nothing to displease the King. Galion wore a conspiratorial look on his face, but would tell her nothing. As they entered the Great Hall, he announced her presence and swiftly disappeared in the mysterious way of the elves.   
  
Before she could greet the King properly, she was lifted from her feet in a fierce hug. "You have grown plump on the food of the elves," Dukalan observed approvingly, as he set his wife on her feet.   
  
"But when - there is nothing amiss at home?" she worried. Remembering her manners, she turned and bowed to the King. "Híren, my apologies."   
  
Thranduil laughed. "It is no matter - it gives me pleasure to see that my surprise is so well received. The elves of Lórien were to pass near your village, and if the husband were worthy of such a wife, I imagined he would pine for her company." With these words the King departed, leaving the couple to greet one another properly.   
  
Dukalan kissed his wife tenderly, for he had indeed missed her dearly. "You shall hardly want to return to us after living like royalty," he fussed. He brought little gifts from their daughters and gossip from Folcagard. Though Viduwyn, too, had much to tell of her stay with the elves, she listened with greater interest to her husband, for he stirred a homesickness in her for her own folk. Though the elves had shown her nothing but kindness, they were not her people, and she could not forget that she remained a guest. Home, for all its hardships, was home.   
  
The day of the feast arrived on the wings of a _loss-vadel_ wind, putting to rest Galion's fears that a final blast of winter would force the merriment indoors. The King, his butler knew, had an ulterior motive in this grand occasion. Just as this day marked two years since the conception of his son, so had a day during the last moon marked a year since the baby's birth - and the death of the King's beloved lady. Preparations for the festivities had kept him too occupied to brood over his loss. "It was a bitter cold night when she left us, and I feared a turn in the weather would turn also our King to melancholy," Galion confided to the mortal. [12]   
  
Nonetheless, Brúniel worried that the little one would be cold, and the morning found him squirming under several layers of garments. The baby, had he been able to effectively voice his complaints, would have told them that he noticed little the cold and heat, but found the heavy clothes far too restrictive. When Brúniel left the nursery to see to her own dress, Viduwyn took pity on the little elf and relieved him of his thick under-vest. "Bidu," the child said agreeably, his nearest approximation to her name. The woman smiled - he had never looked so adorable as he did in his little velvet robe, a miniature version of an adult elf's robes, and the green wool cloak with Brúniel's needlework. White-gold tendrils of hair, still too short to make a dignified elven braid, framed his face. Tiny boots of suede, nearly as soft as the feet they covered, completed the outfit.   
  
Having relinquished the baby to Brúniel, Viduwyn met her husband and the two left the caverns to have a look at the elves and activities on the front terrace. The elves wore their finery - even the warriors wore formal robes and jeweled decorations in their hair. The celebrations had yet to begin in earnest, but Galion had put out tables of food for the guests, though many elves chose to do without in anticipation of the great feast. Musicians played and many of the elves danced or wandered into the glades to speak with a long-sundered friend or kinsman. Though no archery contest had been planned for the day, a number of warriors from Mirkwood had taken on those accompanying guests from other elven lands. Brónalm sat as judge of the competition, impartial in this role, yet unable to conceal his pride at the superior skills of his archers. Only the Silvan Elves from Lórien could truly compete with the Wood folk of Northern Mirkwood; the elves of Eriador had not seen battle since the defeat of the Witch-king.   
  
These strange elves from other lands captured much of the mortals' attention. They saw Noldor from Imladris, with gleaming hair the color of night, and elves from Mithlond, similar in appearance to the Sindar of Mirkwood, though they wore cloaks of a calm sea-blue, and Viduwyn could hear the difference in their accents. Neither she nor her husband had seen a bearded elf, but here they found one. Círdan had claimed his tiny kinsman from Brúniel's care, and the baby also thought the beard quite a novelty. His dark eyes wide with fascination, the little hands stroked the soft white _helf_, as the child had decided to call the beard - much to Círdan's amusement. [13]   
  
In the midafternoon Viduwyn nursed the baby and Brúniel took him inside to nap, lest he become fretful later. As the day waned, Brúniel returned to the festivities with the child, soon to have a name at last. At twilight, the Silvan Elves left their chores or merrymaking and sang to the stars, a nightly event that still never failed to leave Viduwyn with shivers of delight. This night, however, their song seemed especially beautiful, and it marked the beginning of the solemn _Mereth Eneth-Gared_. [14]   
  
As the voices faded, the baby's oldest living female ancestor came forward, the same ancient elf Viduwyn had met upon arrival in Northern Mirkwood. Phingés carried the child along a path strewn with daisy petals and met the father in a ring of candlelight. In a thick Silvan accent, for she used the Woodland tongue in daily life, Phingés opened the ceremony.   
  
"_Man eneth ceril nin-hên?_"   
  
"What name do you make for the child?"   
  
For two days, Thranduil had secluded himself, leaving the feast preparations to Galion and the greeting of guests to Innolas. He had already decided upon a name that would honor his father, but he agonized long over the child's mother-name. He had questioned Brúniel and Viduwyn about the baby's character. He had consulted with Celeborn, despite the complicated relations between the House of Lasgalen and the House of Galadhon. Thranduil had not the special insight of the baby's mother, nor had he Celeborn's second sight.   
  
The gift of Ulmo to faithful Elmo and his descendants occurred once in a generation, but it had come to no child born since the Elder Days. Holding the last grandchild of Oropher, Celeborn felt the stirring of the gift, though he perceived it had less strength than his own foresight. 'It will not be an easy path for this child,' he thought. The baby had his Silvan mother's symbiosis with living things; he would feel the hurts of Arda more keenly than would his Eldarin ancestors. Yet, Celeborn noted with a smile, the baby had also his grandsire's stubborn independence.   
  
"The Noldor had a word in Beleriand, before they passed over the sea and their tongue took on its final form as Quenya. _Last_, it meant, 'sight'," he told his cousin's son. "The child has much of your sister - perhaps to honor her, you might use Laigil."   
  
"_Laigilast_ - 'keen star-sight'" Thranduil experimented with the sound of the name. It did not seem right to his Sindarin tongue, however, and he wanted a Silvan name, to honor the mother. He summoned his second son.   
  
"_Legilas_ would be the Silvan equivalent," Innolas mused. "But perhaps _Legolas_ would be more appropriate." He grinned with the secret joy of the wordsmith, enjoying the dual meaning of the name he had made. "It has the meaning 'keen sight' - yet it also means 'green collection of leaves' - a very good Silvan name, and a very good name for foliage sprung from many different trees." [15]   
  
"_Legolas_ it shall be, then," Thranduil decided, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. His heart confirmed that this was the right name, a name Tórasin would have chosen for her son.   
  
"_Cerin a then enith dâd_."   
  
"I make for the child two names."   
  
Murmurs arose among the Eldar - elves rarely deviated from custom in such solemn matters. Still, they had come to expect such eccentricity from their kinsman in the Wilderland.   
  
"_Eglerio adaren, i chên hen eston Antopher. Dan pedin si an naneth dín, a aníron anno na den estad uin-naneth. I eneth dan natha Legolas._"   
  
"To honor my father, the father-name shall be Antopher. Yet I stand also in his mother's place, and wish to give him a mother-name. That name shall be Legolas."   
  
"Antopher Legolas," Phingés repeated, her heart well pleased with the Silvan name the King had made in remembrance of her beloved great-granddaughter.   
  
"_Mae govannen, Antopher Legolas._"   
  
"Welcome, Antopher Legolas."   
  
The ancient _dí hael_ sprinkled the baby's forehead with lavender water and raised him toward the stars. [16]   
  
"_A elenath hilivren, i glaur o Belain!.  
Suilanno si Antopher Legolas.  
Pathro i chên hen na channas a vîl, na vronwe a 'orf o chûn._"   
  
"O glittering stars, the glory of the Valar!.  
Greet now Antopher Legolas.  
Fill this child with wisdom and love, faith and courage."   
  
Phingés laid the baby in his father's arms.   
  
"_Thranduil Oropherion e-mbar Lasgalen, Aran-en-Eryn Forodren!  
Enith evyr geril, dan hebo main i eneth, 'Adar'.  
Anno na Antopher Legolas vaudhel ben-cheleg a i 'úrel iaur.  
Pado go-den, dan den leitho revio athal-le.  
No estel thala dín, a seidio mar a then an uir.  
A edregol, anno na den vílel ú-'leiniannen._"   
  
"Thranduil Oropherion of the House of Lasgalen, King of the North Forest!  
Many names have you, but keep most dear the name, 'Adar'.  
Give Antopher Legolas your patience and the wisdom of your years.  
Walk by his side, yet allow him to test his wings.  
Be his unwavering trust, and make your home ever his also.  
And above all, give to him your unbounded love."   
  
Thranduil now spoke.   
  
"_Annam chennaid na Velain nin-hên i ammen one.  
Aran Einior, garo i chên hen no idhren a fael.  
Elbereth, no galad na den vi said dhuir.  
Uiar, bathro guil dín na 'lîr a lalaith.  
Ivann, anno na den i 'ovannas o gelais lín a uin lín._"   
  
"We thank the Valar for the child they have given to us.  
Manwë, help this child to be thoughtful and just.  
Elbereth, be a light to him in dark places.  
Ulmo, fill his life with song and laughter.  
Yavanna, give to him the fellowship of your plants and creatures."   
  
"_A Belain! Berio Antopher Legolas.  
Ovro e an uir na 'eilu lín!_"   
  
"O Valar! Protect Antopher Legolas.  
May he always have your blessings abundant!"   
  
And so, Viduwyn saw Legolas named at last. By summer, he would crawl; another year would see the mortal woman preparing to leave Mirkwood. King Thranduil pressed many tokens of his gratitude upon her. The life to which she would return would miss much of the harsh struggle and captivity to fate she had previously known. There were gifts, also - Innolas brought her a slate and parchment upon which he had drawn the runes in his beautiful hand and Mitharas gave her a set of knives of fine elven steel for her husband.   
  
To her surprise, crusty Brúniel presented her with a heavy quilt. In the center, she had embroidered a lovely scene of a blond woman holding a small child to her breast. Gíleg brought her a packet of maple sugar candy for her children and one of his precious barrels of salt. From Thranduil she received a gift of which the worth she could not then know, a letter of debt to her and to her village, and his pledge that the Master of Folcagard had only to send word and the aid of the elves would come.   
  
Her heart was torn, less by regret for the soft life of the palace - for in truth, she was used to hard work, and her idle hours often weighed heavy upon her - but rather by regret for these fine folk, though she missed her own children fiercely. Most of all, she would miss young Legolas. Like all small children, be they mortal or immortal, the little elf thought himself the center of his world. To Legolas, 'Bidu' had always been and would always be. The notion that she had her own family, and that she must leave him, never to return, he could not yet fathom.  
  
The day before she was to set out for Folcagard found Legolas underfoot, his curious eyes prying into every sack and saddlebag. At last, Innolas took charge of his brother, leading him away from the commotion to the quiet gardens above the caverns. Viduwyn found the child in his brother's lap, sharing a large picture book.   
  
"_Man hin?_" Innolas was asking, as Legolas patted the book excitedly. [17]   
  
"_Mioe_," he told his brother, pointing at the drawing of a cat. [18]   
  
Innolas pointed at the other side of the book. "_A sin?_" [19]   
  
"_Hû_." Catching sight of Viduwyn, Legolas quickly turned to the next page. "_Man'in?_" he demanded. [20, 21]   
  
Viduwyn laughed. "_Máma!_" she said, drawing out the sound and tickling the little elf, who clapped in delight at the woman's imitation of a bleating sheep. [22]   
  
Innolas set his brother and the book before him and stood. "I have a few matters to which I must attend," he excused himself, knowing Viduwyn wished to say her farewell to Legolas.   
  
Legolas gathered his still-unsteady legs underneath him, and toddled into her lap.   
  
"I have memai at my house, too."   
  
"Bidu house?"   
  
"Yes, Bidu's house. In the morning I have to go feed my memai."   
  
"Memai hungry?"   
  
"Yes, they are hungry," Viduwyn answered.   
  
"Bidu go away?" Legolas knew about going away. "Like _Nana-einior?_" [23]   
  
"Yes, like Nana-einior." Viduwyn was surprised that the child had this much understanding. Phingés had come recently to Forod'lad to see her great-granddaughter's son, and the child seemed to realize that she would be gone again for some time.   
  
"Bidu come back?"   
  
She hated to lie to the child, but saw little purpose in the truth. It would only upset him now. A month, two months and he would not think her long gone, for he had not yet a concept of time.   
  
"Yes, someday."   
  
He hugged her. "_Namárië, heri vanima_," he said solemnly, imitating the formal farewell his Ada spoke before distinguished guests. [24]   
  
She smiled through her tears at his 'big elf' words. "Namárië, Legolas." He would forget her; he had his Ada and brother and cousin, and his bond to Brúniel was strong.   
  
Yet a bond forged between child and nursing mother is also strong. Even if only dimly remembered by Legolas, she would long hold a place in his heart.  
  


* * *

  
[1] _Suilannad, sílelphin_  

    Greetings, shining ones. I've guessed that the mutation here follows the pattern of _arphen_ rather than _orodben_, as the initial _p-_ of _pen_ follows the liquid _l_. Tolkien was somewhat unclear on plurals - in most cases, the root word would retain its singular form, but _arphen_ did become _erphin_. The difference between _arphen_ and _orodben_ is that _ar_ is (in this case) an adjective. Here I've used the participle of _sila-_, 'to shine', as an adjective, so I'm guessing that it should also take the plural form.  
  

[2] _Loeg Ningloron_  

    Gladden Fields  
  

[3] 'a language not unlike the Nandorin language of the Silvan folk'  

    This would be Taliska, the language of Bëor's folk. The relationship between Taliska and Nandorin is attested in _The Silmarillion_ and _The Lost Road_, but the relationship of the Beornings to the folk of Bëor is uncertain. However, Beorn resembles, physically at least, the Bëoreans, and there is an indirect reference to men of the Vale who were related to the people of Bëor in _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_. (ref. 'Of Dwarves and Men' p 311 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[4] _Ninglor_  

    Gladden River  
  

[5] _Loeg Ningloron_  

    Gladden Fields  
  

[6] 'The Elder refused to take her chair'  

    From Viduwyn's point of view, Radagast is only a wise old man with knowledge of healing. The five Maiar were sent to ME in the guise of old men for a reason; their true nature was not known to men. Only the elves (and some of the Dúnedain) knew the full truth.  
  

[7] _Daro! Sí dorthannem i vôr hen!_  

    Halt! We will stay here tonight! (lit. 'Here we will stay this night!')  
  

[8] _phá_  

    fëa, spirit (Silvan). Derived from _phajá_ - I've assumed that Silvan preserved initial _ph-_, as it appears in Old Sindarin - it seems likely that initial _f-_ derives from Quenya. Final _-já_ appears to become _-a_ (attested by _spenna_), leaving us with _phaa_, or _ph_ + long _a_.  
  

[9] _Hennaid evyr, enni le edregol vaer!_  

    Many thanks, you (are) especially useful to me! - _Hennaid_ is Neo-Sindarin from Eirien Tuilinn's _Gobeth i-Phethath 'wîn_. It is formed from Quenya _hantalë_, 'thanksgiving'.  
  

[10] _bess_  

    female elf  
  

[11] 'kin too long sundered'  

    Based on a few lines in _LOTR_, it is probable that Celeborn is related to Legolas. In this story cycle, I have made him the cousin of Oropher. Círdan, we are told in _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'Last Writings', is kin to Olwë and thus to Oropher's descendants.  
  

[12] _loss-vadel_  

    lit. 'snow-eating' - a Chinook ('snow eater') wind. _vadel_ is the lenited form of _madel_, the participle of _mad-_, 'to eat'  
  

[13] _helf_  

    fur  
  

[14] _Mereth Eneth-Gared_  

    Feast of Name-Making. _gared_ is the lenited form of _cared_, the gerund of the verb _car-_, 'to make'  
  

[15] 'keen sight'  

    This was the meaning of the name in the old Qenya language, as Tolkien originally interpreted the name for Legolas of Gondolin. I wanted to use the original meaning without reference to that first Legolas, as the elves were not in the habit of recycling names (except in the case of father-names, which were sometimes identical to the name of the father). It seems likely that Thranduil would have known that first Legolas, or known of him, since Legolas of Gondolin survived to end up on Tol Eressëa, and if Thranduil was born in Doriath, both would have lived in Arvernien at the end of the First Age. Certainly, he must have known the story of the Fall of Gondolin, but I'm supposing that this did not occur to him when he was naming Legolas of Mirkwood.  
  

[16] _dí hael_  

    wise woman  
  

[17] _Man hin?_  

    What is this?  
  

[18] _Mioe_  

    Cat. Converted from Quenya _mëoi_. I tried to preserve Tolkien's onomatopoeic intention with a Sindarin spelling that would render the Quenya pronunciation.  
  

[19] _A sin?_  

    And this?  
  

[20] _Hû_  

    Dog  
  

[21] _Man'in?_  

    What is this? (_Man hin_, but I'm guessing a small child might have trouble with that 'h'.)  
  

[22] _Máma, memai_  

    Sheep, sheep (pl) (Q, S?). In this case, the Quenya spelling renders the same sound in Sindarin. Technically, the word would probably become _mom_ in Sindarin, but again, it was intended to be onomatopoeic. It might simply have passed nearly unchanged from Primitive Eldarin (though it seems equally likely that it could come from primitive _mbâ_). The plural version supposes that the word would follow the usual rules of Sindarin plural formation.  
  

[23] _Nana-einior_  

    Grandma (lit. 'Mama-elder')  
  

[24] _Namárië, heri vanima_  

    Farewell, fair lady (Q)  

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Linguistic Notes**  


  
**Feast of Name-Making**  
  
_Man eneth ceril nin-hên?_  
[What name (do) you make for the child?]  
  
_Cerin a then enith dâd._  
[I make for him two names.]  
_**a then**_**:** nasal mutation (II) of _an ten_  
_**dâd**_**:** soft mutation of _tâd_  
  
_Eglerio adaren, i chên hen eston 'Antopher'._  
[To glorify my father, this the child I name 'Antopher' (Gift of beech).]  
_**i chên hen**_**:** soft mutation of _i hên sen_  
_**Antopher**_**:** I've used the more archaic spelling to match the spelling of Oropher ('high beech' or 'mountain beech'). _Ant_ would probably be rendered as _And_ in a compound word like this, but that would clash with _and_, 'long'.  
  
_Dan pedin si an naneth dín, a aníron anno na den estad uin-naneth._  
[But I speak now for his mother, and I desire to give to him (a) naming from the mother.]  
_**dín**_**:** soft mutation of _tín_  
_**den**_**:** soft mutation of _ten_  
_**estad**_**:** gerund of _esta-_  
  
_I eneth dan natha 'Legolas'._  
[That the name will be 'Legolas'.]  
_**dan**_**:** soft mutation of _tan_  
_**natha**_**:** fut. tense of _na-_, 'to be'  
  
_Mae govannen, Antopher Legolas._  
[Well met, Antopher Legolas.]  
  
_A elenath hilivren, i glaur o Belain!_  
[O star-host glittering, the glory of Valar!]  
_**hilivren**_**:** soft mutation of _silivren_  
_**glaur**_**:** soft mutation of _claur_  
_**o Belain**_**:** of Valar (pl) - 'the' is not used in Quenya before _Valar_, and I assume Sindarin is similar  
  
_Suilanno si Antopher Legolas._  
[Greet now Antopher Legolas.]  
  
_Pathro i chên hen na channas a vîl, na vronwe a 'orf o chûn._  
[Fill this the child by/with understanding and love, by/with faith and vigor of heart.]  
_**i chên hen**_**:** soft mutation of _i hên sen_  
_**channas**_**:** soft mutation of _hannas_  
_**vîl**_**:** soft mutation of _mîl_  
_**vronwe**_**:** soft mutation of _bronwe_  
_**'orf**_**:** soft mutation of _gorf_  
_**chûn**_**:** stop mutation of _hûn_  
  
_Thranduil Oropherion e-mbar Lasgalen, Aran-en-Eryn Forodren!_  
[Thranduil son of Oropher of the House of Lasgalen, King of the Northern Forest!]  
_**e-mbar**_**:** mixed mutation of _en bar_  
  
_Enith evyr geril, dan hebo main i eneth, 'Adar'._  
[Abundant names you have, but keep pre-eminent the name, 'Adar'.]  
_**main**_**:** not lenited here because this adjective precedes the noun it modifies  
  
_Anno na Antopher Legolas vaudhel ben-cheleg a i 'úrel iaur._  
[Give to Antopher Legolas your hasteless judgment and your ancient counsel.]  
_**vaudhel**_**:** soft mutation of _baudhel_: _baudh_ + _-l_, 'your' (suffixed)  
_**ben-cheleg**_**:** _ben_ is the soft mutation of _pen_, lenited because the whole compound is an adjective. _cheleg_ is the nasal mutation (I) of _celeg_, with the mutation caused by the prefix _pen-_.  
_**'úrel**_**:** soft mutation of _gúrel_: _gûr_ + _-l_, 'your' (suffixed)  
  
_Pado go-den, dan den leitho revio athal-le._  
[Walk together with him, but him set free to fly beyond you.]  
_**den**_**:** soft mutation of _ten_, lenited due to _go-_ prefix  
_**den**_**:** soft mutation of _ten_, lenited as a direct object  
_**athal-le**_**:** nasal mutation (II) of _athan le_ - I'm assuming _athan_ would behave similarly to _an_  
  
_No estel thala dín, a seidio mar a then an uir._  
[Be his steady trust, and set aside a home for him forever.]  
_**no**_**:** imperative of _na-_, 'to be'  
_**dín**_**:** soft mutation of _tín_  
_**mar**_**:** soft mutation of _bar_ (_bar_ is derived from the root _MBAR-_, and thus its mutation diverges from most words beginning in _b-_)  
_**a then**_**:** nasal mutation (II) of _an ten_  
  
_A edregol, anno na den vílel ú-'leiniannen._  
[And in especial, give to him your love unlimited.]  
_**den**_**:** soft mutation of _ten_  
_**vílel**_**:** soft mutation of _mílel_: _mîl_ + _-l_, 'your' (suffixed)  
_**'leiniannen**_**:** soft mutation of _gleiniannen_ (past participle of _gleinia-_, to limit)  
  
_Annam chennaid na Velain nin-hên i ammen one._  
[We give thanks to Valar for this the child which to us they gave.]  
_**chennaid**_**:** soft mutation of _hennaid_ (derived from Q _hantalë_ - see Eirien Tuilinn's _Gobeth i-Phethath 'wîn_ )  
_**Velain**_**:** soft mutation of _Belain_  
  
_Aran Einior, garo i chên hen no idhren a fael._  
[Elder King, make this child to be thoughtful and just.]  
_**garo**_**:** soft mutation of _caro_, lenited because the verb follows its subject  
_**i chên hen**_**:** soft mutation of _i hên sen_  
_**no**_**:** infinitive of _na-_, 'to be' (I'm guessing that the infinitive would be the same as the imperative, as with other verbs in Sindarin)  
  
_Elbereth, no galad na den vi said dhuir._  
[Elbereth, be (a) light to him in dark, somber places.]  
_**no**_**:** imperative of _na-_, 'to be'  
_**galad**_**:** soft mutation of _calad_  
_**den**_**:** soft mutation of _ten_  
_**vi said**_**:** apparently, _vi_ takes no mutation. However, as our only example of this preposition is from a relatively early piece, it is possible that _vi_ should be _mi_ or _bi_ and take soft mutation - Sindarin words simply do not begin with _v-_ except as mutations of initial _m-_ or _b-_.  
_**dhuir**_**:** soft mutation of _duir_  
  
_Uiar, bathro guil dín na 'lîr a lalaith._  
[Ulmo, fill his life by/with song and laughter.]  
_**bathro**_**:** soft mutation of _pathro_, lenited as a verb following its subject  
_**guil**_**:** soft mutation of _cuil_  
_**dín**_**:** soft mutation of _tín_  
_**'lîr**_**:** soft mutation of _glîr_  
  
_Ivann, anno na den i 'ovannas o gelais lín a uin lín._  
[Yavanna, give to him the fellowship of your plants and your creatures.]  
_**den**_**:** soft mutation of _ten_  
_**'ovannas**_**:** soft mutation of _govannas_  
  
_A Belain! Berio Antopher Legolas. Ovro e an uir na 'eilu lín!_  
[O Valar! Protect Antopher Legolas. May he abound (lit. 'Abound he') for eternity with your blessings!]  
_**Ovro e**_**:** Imperative tense of _ovra-_, 'to abound', followed by the nominative case, forming the phrase 'may he abound'. This construction is attested by the 'Ringbearers' Praise' in _LOTR_.  
_**'eilu**_**:** soft mutation of _geilu_  
  



	6. The Men of Dale

**Author's Notes:** In case you're confused, the story has returned to where it went back into the past: Third Age 2500.  
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**The Men of Dale**  
  


Many years before Smaug awoke, the town of Dale prospered, benefiting from the wealth of the dwarves in the Ered Mithrin, the expensive tastes of the Elvenking and the town's proximity to the river systems of the Wilderland. Like the people of Folcagard, the inhabitants of Dale came originally from the Marachrim, but their location had exposed their blood to more mingling. Númenórean adventurers had come in the Second Age, and Adûnaic had supplanted their native tongue. In these days, Dale spoke Westron. Most of its folk could read and write, and the traveling elves who served as troubadours to Middle-Earth found an appreciative audience in Dale - the people had money to spend and the leisure time to enjoy the arts of the elves. [1, 2]  
  
While his brother and cousin discussed the day's plans with the guard accompanying them, Legolas looked about the bustling town square, fascinated by the strange folk. The elves' arrival in Dale coincided with market day, and many of the smaller merchants had set up tables with their wares. Mortal men, tall as elves, yet more muscular, clumsy and coarse of feature, predominated, but in the crowd he also saw many dwarves, broad and stocky, with long beards and laden with heavy packs. A few of the peddlers had a strange look, their features sallow and twisted, as if orcs sullied their line. They had unpleasant demeanors, and the men who served the Lord of Dale would keep a close eye on these fellows until they slunk back to their wretched homes in the hills.  
  
"Legolas, cease your dreaming, lest you be lost in the crowd!"  
  
Legolas turned around to find that their guard had gone to the tasks assigned to them, and Innolas and Mitharas alone remained. "I was not dreaming, only looking," he insisted.  
  
The younger elf followed his kin into the dry goods store. Here they found a long line of dwarves, and Mitharas grew impatient, for they needed only to leave Galion's order. "Soon they'll be asking the merchant to count out every bean," the elf complained. "_Nibenhoth dheleb!_" he added derisively. [3]  
  
"Mitharas, _yrn nith 'erir laiss ledin_," Innolas murmured, nodding toward his brother. In truth, he worried more that a dwarf would overhear his cousin's scathing commentary. He had no love for the _Nogothrim_ himself, but often wished that his cousin and father would be more prudent in their dealings with the dwarves. [4, 5]  
  
They were ever at odds with this stubborn people over tolls on the Celduin and Forest rivers. The elves maintained their right to collect such sums in exchange for keeping the river unmolested by orcs and other enemies; the dwarves refused to recognize Thranduil's claim to the portions of the rivers passing through his realm. A neutral party might sympathize with the elves, but the tolls exacted upon the dwarves were often much higher than those charged of others using the rivers.  
  
From the dry goods store, they went to the wine merchant's shop. To Innolas' relief, they encountered none of the short, sturdy folk here, for dwarves prefer ale. After a few more errands, they parted ways, as Innolas had business with the Lord of Dale. Mitharas and Legolas went to the inn to join the elven guard and secure lodgings for the night. There, shortly after Anor retired for the night, Innolas met them for supper.  
  
The elves' sensitive ears fairly rang with the noise of the busy tavern, lively with talk of Easterlings. Traders from the Vale of Anduin reported raids on their villages, and merchants from Dorwinion told of ambushes along the Celduin. "Is it not enough that we are pressed by orcs from the mountains?" one man complained.  
  
"We had some of this folk in Dale last week," the serving maid told the elves. "A rowdy bunch, and our men had to throw them out lest the place be broken up."  
  
"Strange, but we have seen none of these men on the Forest River," Mitharas noted.  
  
"Aye, they'll avoid ye elves. They know **his** people are likely to end in your King's dungeons." The woman made a sign to ward off evil as she spoke.  
  
Legolas wished he had a better understanding of the Westron tongue. "What are Easterlings?" he asked, pronouncing the unfamiliar word carefully.  
  
"They are foul men from the lands south of the forest," Mitharas explained. "They have allied themselves with Sauron in the past."  
  
"It is a bad sign that they are troubling good people again," Innolas observed. "You had best make certain our borders are well-guarded."  
  
His cousin nodded. "They are cowardly in small groups, but in alliance with orcs…," he broke off, remembering his young cousin. "Legolas, quit dawdling."  
  
The great variety of folk taking their supper at the tavern had so engrossed the young elf that he had quite forgotten to eat his own meal. With the unjaded heart of youth and the curiosity of his race, Legolas never ceased to find wonderment in the novelties of Dale. At a long table sat a party of dwarves, evidently well into their cups. Though loud and boisterous, they gave the serving maid no trouble, treating her with reverent courtesy. Some of the unwholesome peddlers had come to throw their day's take after drink, and small bargain they had in this, for the tavern-keeper watered their ale. He wanted no trouble this night, not when his inn hosted such guests as the wealthy dwarves of Ered Mithrin and the scions of Northern Mirkwood's king. Such visitors were his lifeblood.  
  
They were good folk, these people of Dale. Their Lord was a wise man, who listened to the wisdom of King Náin II and King Thranduil, and Sauron's minions found his ear unfavorable. His people had few complaints, and had small love for those who would promote rebellion and disorder; such things spoiled commerce. If they had a fault, it lay in unwariness, for the memories of men could not recall the dark times before the Watchful Peace. Too late would they see that a few rowdies from the south held not the greatest threat to their industrious content.  
  
Amid the raucous good cheer of the tavern, two men sat at the bar, quiet and detached. Other men paid them no mind, but an elf's perception picked them out at once, for their very silence and unremarkable conduct seemed out of place. "Who are those men?" Legolas asked his cousin, who had nodded to them in greeting when they arrived at the tavern.  
  
"They are Dúnedain of the North," Mitharas said in a low voice. The captain of Thranduil's guard knew no one of them well, but spoke often with their kind. Their travels and watchfulness alerted them early to ill stirrings in the Wilderland and beyond, and Mitharas knew they had come to Dale with cause. He would seek out these men later, to know what tidings they had of the Easterlings.  
  
Most of the other patrons of the tavern had dispersed to their lodgings or their homes when the elves went to their rooms. "Curse the dwarves and their heavy feet!" Mitharas complained, glaring at the ceiling. "Their snoring could wake elves in Mithlond. What ill luck to have them over us - we shall have no rest tonight."  
  
In fact, the two older elves passed easily into their dreamscapes. Sleep came less easily to Legolas. It seemed to him that much evil returned to the world. Scouts reported spider webs - the enormous webs of the _yngol_ - near the Enchanted River. Orcs troubled the Woodmen and travelers crossing the Misty Mountains. For the first time, Legolas appreciated the constant vigilance required of Mitharas and his guard to hold these dangers at bay within Thranduil's realm. [6]  
  
With such uneasy thoughts, the young elf found troubled dreams that night.  
  


* * *

  
[1] 'dwarves in the Ered Mithrin'  

    The dwarves left Erebor in 2210 and did not return until a dragon (not Smaug) attacked and killed Dáin I in 2589. However, they probably maintained some association with Dale, particularly as their nearest mortal neighbors, the Eothéod, were not particularly fond of dwarves. (ref. _LOTR_, 'Appendix A')  
  

[2] 'the traveling elves who served as troubadours to Middle-Earth'  

    In 'The magic of the minstrels' (s that elves may have served as the wandering entertainment troupes of Middle-Earth, much like the bards of Europe's Middle Ages - Gildor's group, met by Frodo and Sam, may have been one such band.  
  

[3] _Nibenhoth dheleb!_  

    Loathsome petty-folk!  
  

[4] _yrn nith 'erir laiss ledin_  

    'young trees have open leaves' (aka 'little pitchers have big ears')  
  

[5] _Nogothrim_  

    Dwarf-folk (lit. 'stunted folk', not a particularly politically correct word for dwarves)  
  

[6] _yngol_  

    spiders. The plural form of _ungol_ is not attested, but if it follows the pattern of other words that developed an _o_ in the ending _-gl_ from Old Sindarin, the _o_ does not change in the plural.  

  
  



	7. Aragost

**Author's Notes:** Although my conception of Aragost's character hasn't changed, this chapter has been completely rewritten since it was first posted a year ago. General observations of the lives of the Dúnedain and their Chieftains are based on _LOTR_, Appendix A (iii). The precise dates of Arahad and Aragost's birth and death are found in _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Heirs of Elendil' p 196, pub. Houghton Mifflin.  
  
Be forewarned that there is some slash in this chapter, of the innocent, teen crush variety - Legolas is not yet an adult.  
  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.  
  


**Aragost  
  
**

2505 Third Age  
  
Elves enchanted Aragost. They could match no man in brute strength, yet so quick and sure were their movements, they usually had the best of a mortal foe in hand-to-hand combat. So slender, they looked fragile, yet proved tireless in feats of endurance. No sickness could touch them, yet mere grief could herald their death. They ate like birds, yet served up feasts of unrivalled richness. Most of all, the man admired their beauty: their hair of gossamer silk had strength enough to string a bow and seemed never to tangle in the trees; their fair and smooth skin implied youth, yet their eyes - their eyes revealed endless depths of living.  
  
At this moment, however, he felt more apt to malign than admire a certain elf. That elf's preferred epithet was King Thranduil, and the underground maze the Elvenking called his home had roused the Dúnadan's ire. The man had become quite lost in the bewildering passages, and he wondered aloud at the casual hospitality that had left a guest of the King to his own devices.  
  
"Curse that imperious Sinda and every dwarf who laid hammer and chisel to this wretched hole!" he muttered, stopping at a fork in the passage.  
  
A peal of laughter answered him. "Three times I have watched you return to this place. I learned that Rangers had great sense of direction, but perhaps my teacher was mistaken."  
  
"Show yourself, Elf. And I cannot help it if my senses are undone. I am used to elves who live in sensible places, not in caves like orcs," he growled.  
  
A figure stepped from the shadows of the passage, and Aragost bit his tongue; Thranduil's progeny could hardly pretend to be anything but the product of their sire. Blond locks were rare among elves, and the singular beauty of the House of Lasgalen had admirers even among the aristocratic Noldor at Imladris.  
  
"My apologies, _hîr_. My journey was wearying and I am not at ease in these caverns. The closeness reminds me of a youthful encounter with a cave of orcs," he said quickly. This was not strictly a lie, though the only orcs he had found in the cave had arisen from a child's overactive imagination, encouraged by two rather mischievous Peredhil. [1]  
  
The elf smiled in sympathy. He was slender as a reed and somewhat small, easily a head shorter than the man. He had a look of innocence and curiosity not yet lost to time and the weight of memory - the King's youngest child, Aragost guessed. The elves of Imladris no longer bore children, and the Dúnadan had never before met an elf younger than him. "I am not terribly fond of my father's dwellings," the elf admitted.  
  
"If not too great a burden, will you would help me out of these infernal passages?" Aragost entreated, relieved that the son of Thranduil had not taken offense.  
  
"It shall be no burden at all, for I am on my way to the festivities myself. I was required," the elf said, with a rueful pull of his mouth, "to attire myself somewhat more suitably, for this night commences our most sacred rite."  
  
Aragost wondered what the young elf meant by 'most sacred rite'. All elves celebrated the _Mereth Iau-Grithol_, but Imladris assigned it no more importance than it did any other feast. [2]  
  
In its honor, the young elf had exchanged his daily garb for robes in the emerald green of his House, embroidered with the device of the King. In a few years, Aragost knew, when the elf came of age, he would choose his own emblem. The elf's hair captured the very glow of Ithil, and he had arranged these pale tresses in a heavy braid that sat atop his head like a crown. The braid separated into numerous slender braids, each woven with leafy vines. Enchanted by the lovely creature, Aragost sighed happily as he followed the elf's swift, silent feet.  
  
The elf looked over his shoulder. "Do you have a name, Dúnadan?"  
  
"Aragost, son of Arahad."  
  
"And I am Legolas. Well met, Aragost."  
  
They came at last to the entrance hall, and the man was now a bit sorry he had not been more lost, for they immediately parted ways on the green outside the caverns - Aragost met his companions and Legolas hurried to join his family. Torchlight flickered and the _Ivonwin_ danced through its shadow and light, symbolizing the end of the harvest and the beginning of _firith_. Aragost had seen similar ceremonies at Imladris many a time, but this dance had something more primeval to it. The passion of the dancing elf-maids evoked an image of Cuiviénen itself and the joy of the first elves as they awoke, wondering at the world the Valar had made. [3, 4]  
  
Legolas watched Aragost discreetly. A single braid gathered the man's glossy hair, its sleek beauty a testament to distant elven ancestors. Yet the tanned face, lined somewhat with age, betrayed his race. Legolas had smelt mortality in the faint odor of sweat on the man, had heard mortality in the strange little lie Aragost had told in the caverns.  
  
The common cycle of mortals and living things of the forest appealed to his Silvan heart. The green things he loved would wither and die, and his sadness at this fate echoed the sadness of mortals, for they, too, would die. Yet like men, plants scattered their seed far and wide, renewing themselves, changing as needed, and in this the young elf saw hope. Even the Wood folk must fade into _tawri_, sprites of the forest, and in time, neither plant nor man would recall the elves as they had once been. The world would belong to men. [5, 6]  
  
The next morning found Aragost in the library of Thranduil's second son. Innolas greeted the man as a visiting dignitary; he spoke respectfully behind a mask of elven inscrutability. This man was heir to the Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and whatever rumors the elf-lord had heard about the son, Innolas held the father in high esteem.  
  
Aragost examined the cozy room, its many lamps defying the perpetual night of the caverns, its book-lined walls softening the stone surroundings. "Perhaps a loremaster can tell me something of this feast your folk are celebrating. Your brother called it your most sacred feast, and it is celebrated differently than I have seen at Imladris."  
  
"Legolas told you this?"  
  
"Yes - I was lost in the passages, and he guided me to the entrance."  
  
Innolas laughed. "Then he has spoken more words to you than he normally speaks in a week, at least to other elves. I believe he saves most of his words for the trees.  
  
"The Silvan folk have always had the favor of Yavanna, for they remained behind to care for Ennor while the Eldar sought Aman. The harvest of corn is very special to the Wood Elves, a time to honor Yavanna and her gift of lembas, and a time for sorrow, as the feast will end with Yavanna's winter sleep. The lack of green things weighs heavy on the Silvan folk. It is a death to them."  
  
Innolas turned to an overflowing shelf of books and selected one, handing it to the man. "You might find this interesting, if you wish to know more about our Woodland folk."  
  
" '_Nern a Glîr e-Dawarwaith _'," he read. He opened the book and read the title page silently. 'Collection and translation by Innolas and Legolas Thranduilion.' He would find this interesting, indeed. "Many thanks." [7]  
  
Innolas took up a sheaf of papers, indicating the man's dismissal. "You may take that copy back to Imladris. I have meant to give one to Elrond, but the shadow grows ever more dark and we will cross Hithaeglir only in dire need."  
  
The weather remained tolerably warm, despite the scent of the coming winter in the air, and Aragost found his way out of the caverns, intending to find a quiet spot to read until the noon meal. As he crossed the bridge, however, he saw Legolas leaving a hut on the river. Now clad in tunic and leggings, Legolas carried a bow and quiver and hailed the Dúnadan as he walked.  
  
"Good morn, Aragost. I trust you did not find the night too long in the caverns?"  
  
"Nay, I slept so soundly I might have been in my own bed. Too soundly, for I missed you at breakfast," he said regretfully.  
  
"You did not miss me, for I did not breakfast in the caverns. I do not stay in my father's halls at night." The elf started down the beach-lined path toward Forod'lad. "That is my home," he added, nodding his head at the hut behind them. [8]  
  
Aragost thought this a strange dwelling-place for the son of a King, but Northern Mirkwood, he had already determined, had many such curiosities. This unusual elf proved most curious of all.  
  
"I am to take over the watch at the gates of Forod'lad. You may come, if you wish - it is a pretty view from the talan," he added, looking at the man shyly. The elf said no more as they traversed the little burg along the southern side of the river. At the town gates, Legolas halted next to a tall tree and whistled. An answering call came from the branches above them and the youngster scurried up the tree with the certainty and speed of a squirrel. A moment later, another elf dropped gracefully to the ground and a rope fell from the talan.  
  
"I can climb a tree, though perhaps not so swiftly as you have done," Aragost protested.  
  
"I do not doubt it, but the tree will not like your heavy boots," Legolas called from his hidden perch.  
  
"I hope I will not distract you," the man said, when he had at last pulled himself up to the talan. He looked around, finding the view of the picturesque little town well worth his climb.  
  
Legolas laughed. "It is a quiet watch. Mostly, I am listening for signals from other elves - those by the river, where there might be trouble, or a runner coming from the border to the south." Of late, he had stood watches on the river and along the eastern marches of his father's realm, always in the company of a more experienced warrior. This watch, his cousin trusted him to sit alone; it was a favor to the usual guards, not a training exercise. Innolas, too, would sit a few watches during the feast days, so that no one would miss the festival. Above all, however, the realm must remain secure. Mitharas made certain that his warriors did not let their guard down - high feast days had seen the fall of great elven kingdoms.  
  
Legolas identified a few landmarks from their high perch, gradually lapsing into silence. As the afternoon wore on, Aragost found himself fighting sleep, but the elf remained subtly alert: so at ease he seemed to blend into the very tree, singing softly from time to time, yet his eyes and ears vigilant, constantly filtering the sounds of the forest for anything out of the ordinary. Aragost had never had much patience for long watches; he needed to stretch his legs and walk about. A slight movement to his left caught him nearly drowsing. Legolas held an arrow loosely but did not draw his bow, his keen eyes focused on the forest. A moment later, the rustling that had alerted the elf reached the ears of the man, and he saw a single wolf winding through the underbrush. The wolf came into the clear several times, but Legolas made no further movement.  
  
"Will you not shoot it?" Aragost asked, growing impatient.  
  
"He will not trouble the village. The deer are fat and lazy now, and the wolf has come out to hunt them. In winter, his hunger will make him bold and dangerous, and then perhaps we must shoot him - or frighten him away, if we can - to protect our livestock. He is a predator, not an unnatural thing of evil. We do not interfere with the balance of creatures as Oromë and Yavanna made them."  
  
"I hope you do not have such a generous attitude toward spiders and wargs."  
  
Legolas shook his head. "We should not meet a warg so deep within the protection of our realm. The spiders do elude the border guards at times, however - they can move through the trees, and one spider carrying an egg sac can hide for some time. They are clever creatures - when the spider at last shows itself, its eggs have spawned an entire nest of the foul things. They give us a great deal of trouble." He relaxed again as the wolf meandered away from Forod'lad, following deer tracks along the riverbank.  
  
Through a veil of lashes, he looked sideways at Aragost. Anor had begun to sink in the west, and her last rays threw golden streams of light across the trees, turning the tanned face to rich gold. The man's eyes closed, sleep winning his consciousness, and Legolas held up a tentative hand, drawn to touch the illuminated cheeks.  
  
A whistle broke his reverie. Below the talan, another elf had arrived to take the watch. Legolas answered the whistle and Aragost awoke, startled. He looked up at the elf, who carefully avoided his eyes. The youngster's cheeks were flush with embarrassment, and Aragost could not but wonder if he accounted for the high color in the elf's pale skin. 'A pity he is yet shy of his majority,' he mused.  
  
A somber mood fell upon the forest as twilight welcomed the final night of the festival. The Silvan folk, until now merry and playful, grew serious and regretful. The elves had changed their colors, eschewing emerald green and gold of summer for garments of taupe and greyish-green. Thranduil's robes bore similar hues, and he had exchanged his crown of red leaves and berries for one of willow and chrysanthemums.  
  
In the forest across the river, elves wished the trees a good sleep, singing softly in the Silvan tongue. Aragost followed them into the wood, enthralled by their song. Spying the glow of white-blond hair in a grove of beeches, Aragost chased the ethereal light, coming to a halt as beauty itself cut short his breath. The elenath illuminated silver tears; a voice of unearthly charm rose in song. The last leaves on the trees whispered in response, speaking their own farewell.  
  
"Your heart is sad - it brings sorrow to mine," Aragost offered.  
  
"Winter is long in Mirkwood. Snow comes and remains until spring. The trees sleep; they do not sigh in the breeze but groan as they are bent by bitter wind."  
  
The man felt touched to the core by the young elf's lament, and laid a hand on his arm in a simple gesture of comfort.  
  
This man had a singular effect on Legolas. In spite of his melancholic mood, he felt a thrill course through his body, a longing he recognized from the dreams that had recently disturbed his nights and left him more tired than refreshed.  
  
Legolas had a sense that he knew this man, this stranger. He had come to appreciate that he had prescience other elves did not possess. He foresaw dangers in the forest - an approaching spider, a lightning storm - but had until recently dismissed such foresight as nothing extraordinary. It was a part of his Silvan heritage, the legacy of his mother.  
  
Yet at times he made choices for no other reason than the guidance of his heart, choices that turned out, in retrospect, to be fortuitous. Early in the summer, Innolas had planned to visit Imladris, having gathered enough intelligence of the stirrings at Dol Guldur that he thought it necessary to speak with the _ithron_, Mithrandir. Just before his departure, however, Legolas had felt a dread come over him. "You should not go, Innolas. It is not safe. The passes are teeming with orcs - they are watching for elves," he advised, overcoming his fear that his elders would only smile patronizingly at the warning of a young, unworldly elf. [9]  
  
"I know it is worrisome, muindor dithen, but it cannot be helped. We must sometimes undertake risk to avoid even greater peril."  
  
Thranduil had listened to this exchange with an odd expression on his face. "He may see not risk, but certainty," the King mused. "I think it would be wise to put off this journey, Innolas. However important these matters may be, they will not reach the ithron if you are attacked."  
  
Legolas could not now say if his fears held reason. Hindsight after a disaster is clear; a disaster averted may wear the disguise of over-cautiousness. Innolas had said no more of the matter to him, but Legolas knew he had spoken at length with their father, and had accepted Thranduil's decision.  
  
His heart now told him that he had not finished with this man. Yet, he sensed in Aragost a weakness of character, a failing of courage. 'Why, then, am I drawn to him?' he wondered. Why was this man so important?  
  
Under the piercing gaze of pewter eyes, Aragost shifted uncomfortably, though he had stood many a time under the keen observation of the Firstborn. At last, Legolas dropped his eyes and laid his own hand over the hand still holding his forearm.  
  
"My heart tells me that though this is a night of death, it is a beginning, too."  
  
The nearness of the elf made Aragost acutely aware of the scent of bayberry soap and the play of Ithil upon shining hair. His free hand pushed stray hairs from the elf's face, brushing the pointed ear as he did so.  
  
This gesture did not have the effect he expected. Legolas abruptly dropped his arm and turned around. Confused for a moment, Aragost looked beyond the elf and met sea-grey eyes, narrow with suspicion.  
  
"Legolas, you are wanted by Adar," Innolas announced, one eye still on the Dúnadan as he spoke.  
  
The younger elf murmured an apology and hurried away to see his father, leaving the man to wonder what Innolas had seen and heard.  
  
"You seem to have taken an interest in my brother."  
  
Aragost looked at the elf-lord warily. "Do you think mortal men cannot be touched by the sadness of an elf?" he asked, allowing a touch of defensiveness into his voice.  
  
"It is a time of grief for the Silvan folk. His mother was a Wood Elf and her blood is strong in Legolas. He feels the coming of winter more keenly than do the others of my father's house. He is vulnerable at such a time, and I fear he might be led astray," Innolas explained, his tone chilly.  
  
"I do not mean to lead him astray." Aragost stepped back, surprised by the loremaster's sudden change of temper. The elf who stood before him, drawn to his full and not inconsiderable height - made all the more imposing by the somewhat more substantial build of the Sindar and the ancient force of his bloodline - looked absolutely forbidding, every inch an echo of his father the King.  
  
"Legolas does not yet know that one may be ill-used even when no malice is meant," Innolas continued, as if the man had not spoken.  
  
"I have no intentions by your brother," Aragost protested.  
  
"That I believe. But does he know that?"  
  
Aragost shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the elf-lord's unremitting stare. "In any event, he is too young."  
  
"He is indeed," Innolas said sharply.  
  
Aragost raised his eyes to meet those of the elf, knowing that here, at least, he was blameless. "You need not worry - I do not seduce children."  
  
Innolas only nodded. The man's sincerity mattered little before the determination of an artless elven heart. The romantic story of Beren and Lúthien had thrilled many a young elf, including his brother. Older and wiser, Innolas thought not of Doriath's star-crossed lovers, but of another, more tragic pair out of elven history. '_Ai, Legolas. I adan hen ú-Veren_,' he lamented, quoting from that unhappy tale. [10, 11]  
  
The sooner the man departed, the better. Legolas' fascination with mortals could be useful to their people, but he must not be encouraged to stray beyond the bounds of friendship and goodwill. Love, whether that of _gwedeir_ or _melethryn_, must come to grief for an elf. [12]  
  
"I would guess that you are wanted by your people." Innolas spoke briskly, his tone allowing no quarter for protest. "It is my understanding that the Dúnedain of the North are no longer so numerous that any can be spared for journeys of pleasure. I am surprised that your father finds his only son so dispensable that he may wander the Wilderland."  
  
Aragost grimaced. Indeed, his father did not find his son so dispensable. "It is true that we are likely needed at home. We have tarried too long here - we will begin preparations for the return journey soon."  
  
"That would be wise. Hithaeglir shall soon be impassible."  
  


**~~~~~**  
  


'What am I to do with thee, o profligate son of mine?' Silently, Arahad regarded his heir. At turns exasperated and deeply concerned, the Chieftain, now grey and infirm, had all but lost hope for his son. It was folly, in these times, to venture into the eastern lands without good reason - and Aragost rarely had good reason.  
  
Arahad's rule bespoke a wise and courageous leader. His task had not been easy, for almost as he assumed his father's place did Sauron return to Dol Guldur. Though they had lost their kingdom, the Dúnedain retained guardianship of their erstwhile subjects and tributaries in Eriador. By Arahad's careful management of his dwindling people, the men of Bree and hobbits of the Shire lived in blissful ignorance of the darkening world around them.  
  
His son proved a disappointment. A clever student, he had learned quickly under Elrond's tutorship, but the more important lessons of character and honor had not stuck so well. He had the skills to be a useful Ranger, but preferred to pass his time in Bree, gambling and drinking. This excursion to Dorwinion, in the company of two equally rakish miscreants, infuriated Arahad; his anger grew exponentially as he extracted full details of the journey from the more loose-lipped of his son's companions. One aspect particularly troubled him - he did not want enmity between his people and the King of Northern Mirkwood. The king's warriors and scouts were an invaluable source of information, and safe passage through that haunted forest depended on the goodwill of the elves. Moreover, Thranduil had sent help to Isildur when Elendil's son fell by the Gladden Fields; the Dúnedain would not forget this debt. [13]  
  
"I hardly think the safe delivery of wine numbers among the duties of a Ranger. Moreover, your attentions to the Elvenking's son are indefensible. I should not need to remind you that he is yet a child among his people." He shook off his son's offer of assistance as he stumped toward his chair, waving his cane for emphasis rather than putting it to the use for which it was intended.  
  
"You know that to which you allude is unconscionable." Arahad raised his chin righteously.  
  
"I question whether 'unconscionable' has any meaning to you. Your activities permit broad interpretation of the word.  
  
"You have too long kept Elvelleth waiting," Arahad continued, "and your indiscretions do not lessen but compound one another as you grow older. I urge you to marry her with haste and produce sons. I can only hope that her influence will bring you to heel, for I concede that your father has utterly failed to direct your conduct.  
  
"I am old, Aragost. My days grow short, and I cannot say that my heir brings comfort, or assurance that my people will have wise leadership after I am gone."  
  
Arahad knew that his words were but drops in a stream. Though he regarded his son with more pity than sympathy, he understood Aragost better than the younger man could know. At one time, he too had trod the path of his Chieftain father but reluctantly. The leadership of their people seemed such a paltry thing, a hopeless clinging to a past long buried.  
  
Once in his life, he had gone to Fornost. It had seemed appropriate for the ruined heir of Elendil to walk once amongst the ruins of Arnor. Even in that haunted place, one could still see the trappings of royalty - Noldorin craftsmanship in the remains of a stone archway, dwarven excellence in the wide stone paving of the road to the castle, so perfectly fit together that neither weed nor blade of grass had dared to disrupt the surface. Anything of value, orcs had stolen; anything of beauty, they had desecrated. Yet, nobility stirred here in a way it did not in the transient dwellings of the Dúnedain of Arahad's day. Tents replaced stone; they lived a secretive, wandering life, dependent upon the protection of Elrond for the continuance of their line.  
  
What had he to leave his son? He had no castle, no armory, no treasures. What home he had was here, at Imladris. In his younger days, it had been but a resting place, a brief stop to reacquaint himself with his wife and son before he went again into the wild with his men. A Chieftain lived the life of a warrior, not of a functionary. Now, in the waning years of his life, he had retired to these elven halls, leaving his people scattered in the Angle. He could no longer provide the active leadership they needed. He feared that his reign would see the loss of what little he had - the Dúnedain themselves, proud guardians of the free peoples, fierce enemies of Sauron. Sons crept off to Gondor; daughters followed and those who remained had few children. They had no more confidence in a future under his son's rule than did he.  
  
Aragost's toe scuffed at the carpet. His father's presence inevitably unmanned him; he bethought himself a wayward schoolboy rather than an adult of nearly four score years. With what words could he defend himself? Arahad expected nothing of Aragost that he did not expect of himself. He towered over his son, his deeds an acme Aragost could never hope to reach, and his infrequent appearances during Aragost's childhood had done little to demythologize the Chieftain. If the younger man had been made of better stuff, he might have seen a challenge in Arahad's expectations. Wounded pride might have festered to bring out the best in Aragost. It had not been so. Aragost did not dwell upon hurts. Mediocrity lay at the heart of his failings - too easily did he accept them.  
  
Dismissed from his father's presence, he retired to his own rooms, relieved to have the unpleasant interview ended. The little book he had brought from Mirkwood caught his eye, and he soon immersed himself in the lyrical stories - a book, after all, is the one place in which we can hide even from ourselves. A clear, young voice sang the lays and spun the tales of his Silvan kin, bringing again to life a mystical forest that pushed Imladris into the shadows of Aragost's mind. By twilight, he hardly thought of his father's harsh words, hearing instead the star-opening song of the Wood Elves, and he fell asleep to a mournful lullaby for the trees.  
  
Even his dreams were pleasant, for he dreamt himself in the arms of Tilion, hands entwined in hair of pale moonlight, eyes held fast by orbs of pewter, dark and shining at once.  
  


* * *

  
[1] _hîr_  

    lord  
  

[2] Mereth Iau-Grithol  

    lit. 'festival of corn-reaping'. _Grithol_ is the participle of the verb _critho_, lenited to _g-_ as an adjective following its noun.  
  

[3] _Ivonwin_  

    Maidens of Yavanna - they were the only elves allowed to handle the corn until it was made into lembas. (ref. _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'Of Lembas')  
  

[4] _firith_  

    season of fading - late autumn/early winter  
  

[5] _tawri_  

    fays of the wood (Silvan). This is constructed from _tawaró _/_tawaré_. _w_ seems to be a valid sound in Silvan Elvish, as attested by _Denweg_ - though it disappeared in the consonant cluster _kw_ and probably _gw_. The syncope of _tawar_ " _tawr_ is attested by _Golodó_ " _Golda_. _-ó _/_-é_ are masculine and feminine endings; both would become _-a_ in Nandorin, but it appears that in plurals a final vowel drops off (attested by _Linda _/_Lindi_). (ref. _The Lost Road_, 'Etymologies' and _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar')  
  
In _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, Tolkien suggests that the Silvan folk never left ME, but _'fad[ed] in the fastness of the woods and hills, as Men usurped the lands' _. (ref 'The Appendix on Languages' p 73 & 79, pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[6] 'Yet like men, plants scattered their seed far and wide, renewing themselves, changing as needed, and in this the young elf saw hope.'  

    This is inspired by Legolas' words in _LOTR_: _'Yet seldom do they fail of their seed. And that will lie in the dust and rot to spring up again in times and places unlooked-for. The deeds of Men will outlast us, Gimli.'_ (ref. 'ROTK', Book 5, Chapter IX)  
  

[7] _Nern a Glîr e-Dawarwaith_  

    Tales and Songs of the Silvan Elves  
  

[8] Forod'lad  

    It seems likely that some sort of a village would be near Thranduil's caverns. The name is mine - it means 'Northwood'.  
  

[9] _ithron_  

    wizard  
  

[10] 'The romantic story of Beren and Lúthien had thrilled many a young elf, including his brother.'  

    Legolas makes an interesting observation regarding Aragorn in _LOTR_: _'…nobler is his spirit than the understanding of Sauron; for is he not of the children of Lúthien? Never shall that line fail, though the years may lengthen beyond count.'_ (ref. 'ROTK', Book Five, Chapter IX)  
  

[11] '_I adan hen ú-Veren _'  

    _'This man is not Beren'_ - these are Gwindor's words to Finduilas concerning Túrin. (ref. _The Silmarillion_ p 252 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[12] _gwedeir_, _melethryn_  

    blood-brothers (sworn brothers); lovers  
  

[13] 'Moreover, Thranduil had sent help to Isildur when Elendil's son fell by the Gladden Fields; the Dúnedain would not forget this debt.'  

    Yes, really - forget the fanon that portrays Thranduil as hostile toward Isildur and his line. (ref. _Unfinished Tales_, 'Disaster of the Gladden Fields', p 288 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  

  
  



	8. Mitharas

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter. For reference to URLs, please see my homepage listed under my profile.  
  


**Mitharas**

  
  
**Prologue**  
  
The Nazgûl sniffed the air. Unmistakable, that scent of living blood, the cram of his existence. The needs of mortal men had deserted him over an age ago; his kind found sustenance, such as they needed, in the sweet waning of life. And here, passing nearly under his nose, were mortals, brimming with life and something else that excited him: fear.  
  
Beside him, Khamûl shifted. "Watch. Wait."  
  
The other did as he was told, and soon felt what discomfited his companion. "_Nolug-hai_," he spat. [1]  
  
"Nay, they are mortal. But something Elvish goes with them."  
  
'A protective spell, perhaps,' Khamûl thought. 'A woman of power.' The protection they carried was powerful and very old, older even than the wraiths themselves. In any case, they hunted more important prey: the two who had eluded them, the two his Lord had sent them to find. They would not assail these strange mortals.  
  
**Vale of the Anduin, 41st Day of Echuir, TA 2509** [2]  
  
Romhador held his knife in the flames of the fire for a moment, then withdrew it and held it up, allowing it to cool somewhat. Studying the man's bulbous leg, he drew a deep breath and lowered his knife. Mitharas looked away, feeling slightly queasy, though the man offered only a quiet groan. Romhador finished his work and pulled his captain aside with a look of dismay.  
  
"All I know of mortal sickness is what I learned from those who care for the livestock," the healer admitted, his forehead wrinkled with discomfort. He felt utterly out of his depth, a rare thing for an elf. "What I would give for a healer of the Dúnedain just now," he said wryly.  
  
"What ails him may be beyond even their skill," Mitharas said. "You have done all you can, yet he grows colder. He will not last the night, I think. Go and take some rest - I will finish binding his wound." He turned to see that Legolas and Iasernor had returned from their search for athelas.  
  
"This may ease your pain, my friend." He applied a poultice to the wound and bound it in fresh bandages. He stood, feeling helpless and worried. Around him, the Wood Elves spoke in hushed whispers. Like their captain, they could not banish the vivid memory of Mordor or the dreadful _Ylnaid_. [3]  
  
"Mitharas, what is wrong? Even the trees are disturbed - they speak of something unwholesome in the shadows." The dark-eyed elf watched him carefully, his head tilted toward the trees that bordered the Anduin. Even if the older warriors dared not speak of their fears within the hearing of the youngster, Legolas shared their sensitivity to the living things around him. He knew something was amiss.  
  
"This man is afflicted with a Morgul wound," Mitharas said at last.  
  
The younger elf's eyes widened. "Is he…will he die?"  
  
Mitharas nodded. "There is little we can do to help him. Such a wound needs the skill of one such as Elrond or Aiwendil, and we could not bear him away in time. I do not think he will see Anor's rising." He wished his young cousin were not with the party, no matter how much confidence he had in the warriors he had chosen for this journey. He had intended to go as far as the Carrock, and more than ever, he wanted to know what tidings the Beornings might have. Now, he judged the risk too great. He could not put Legolas in danger.  
  
He turned his attention to the making of camp and setting of watches. Legolas, as much out of curiosity as compassion, went to sit with the dying man. 'What brings you so far from home, Dúnadan?' Legolas wondered silently. The man seemed to sense his question.  
  
"Your people have communion with the birds, perhaps you will send word to my Steward?" The man's face contracted in consternation. "Though it will bring him no joy, he must know we have failed him." [4]  
  
"That will be done," Legolas promised. "But can we not do more for you? If there is a message to be delivered, perhaps we can carry it in your stead." He knew his father probably would not approve; Thranduil did not like to involve his people in troubles that did not concern them or their allies. He had enough to worry him within his own borders.  
  
"My message will go with me to the grave, for so my Steward commanded of me and I took an oath to reveal it to none but its recipient.  
  
"But I came north with a companion," he continued, "and we knew not the land, so that we came upon the lands west of Dol Guldur at night. We both felt a great and paralyzing fear come over us, and though I reached for my sword, I could not draw it. My companion's horse shied as the thing came nearer in the mist, and he was thrown. All at once, the dark horseman charged us and my horse bolted, so that I left my companion behind. No doubt, he was soon put to death. Yet I did not escape unharmed, for the horseman sliced my leg ere I escaped." The man closed his eyes, pain and exhaustion overcoming him.  
  
He spoke again without opening his eyes, weakly squeezing Legolas' hand. "They say the touch of an elf is healing, and though I cannot doubt my demise, you bring me comfort."  
  
"Then I will stay with you, if it eases your night."  
  
Merciful death claimed the man before dawn, as Mitharas had predicted. Legolas knew the precise moment when the hand he held grew empty and lifeless. He wondered at the fate of the fëar of men. Some spoke of a place beyond the circles of the world - what did that mean? The void? Where Morgoth seethed in his imprisonment? Legolas shivered at the thought.  
  
Mitharas faded from his dreams. The fire burned brightly; other elves were up and about. He saw that Legolas still sat with the man and frowned. Someone had drawn a sheet over the man's face. The elf slid out of his bedroll and went to crouch by his cousin.  
  
"He is dead," Legolas said, his young face confused.  
  
Unbidden, a memory buried beneath the centuries of his life came to the forefront of Mitharas' mind. He had spoken the same emotionless words over the shell of what had been his father. At Legolas' age, he had marched south into war. His father had been the first of the King's family to die, but not the last. The King's oldest grandson and the King himself had died in the ill-fated assault on the Morannon. He looked around him. These old warriors had seen brothers, fathers, sisters slain in the seven-year war.  
  
Still, Mitharas had lost more than most. He had returned from Mordor to watch helplessly as his mother faded from grief. In later years, he had lost the lady he loved to his closest friend, and his friend to bitterness and then wargs.  
  
His father had been Captain of the Guard before him, and the son had shown the same aptitude for military leadership. Despite his tender age, he had risen quickly to the forefront of Thranduil's army in Mordor. Upon return to the Greenwood, that wise King had named Mitharas and Faunil - a Nandorin elf from Ossiriand - as joint captains in charge of his realm's defense. Faunil had been both mentor and friend to the younger Captain. Mitharas had returned from Mordor a great warrior; he was a ruthless foe whom orcs called _Kelk-ash_, 'the cold one'. Yet he could not have become a great commander without Faunil's aid. More even in temperament, the _Laegel_ had taught him prudence, and as a result, Mitharas had lost few warriors to Mandos. He had earned the devotion of the elves who served under his wise leadership. [5, 6]  
  
If his work gave him an outlet for anger that might otherwise have consumed him, it could not restore the near-child who had set out for Mordor. He could not bear to see Legolas' innocence tarnished so soon.  
  
Mitharas put a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "We must bury him. It will soon be light, and I would reach the forest before nightfall."  
  
Legolas could see a rosy light upon the highest peaks of Hithaeglir, signaling Anor's ascent in the east. He suddenly had a great yearning to be safe under the beeches of his home; his skin prickled with the certainty that unwholesome things were about.  
  
Even the party's return to the woods could not give him much comfort. The disturbance of the trees hummed even louder here than in the Vale and all of the Silvan members of the party were on edge. The following day, a sudden movement in the forest had the entire company ready with bows and spears.  
  
"There!" Iasernor pointed to a tree a furlong into the wood. Suspecting a spider, he held his bow ready as he scanned the branches. Then he lowered his weapon and visibly relaxed. "We seem to have treed a boy."  
  
Mitharas walked up to the tree. "If you wish to escape the elves of the wood, a tree will not avail you, young fellow." There was no response. "Come down, child. We will not harm you."  
  
A rather dirty boy of perhaps thirteen climbed down from the tree, looking at the party in wonder. "Elves, did you say?" His Westron had an odd accent that Mitharas could not immediately place.  
  
"Yes, we are elves. What brings a child alone into Mirkwood?"  
  
"Elves of Northern Mirkwood? Of King Thranduil's realm?"  
  
"Yes, yes." Mitharas wrinkled his brow. "But what--?"  
  
The boy looked as if he would cry with relief. "We are saved then. I am the Master of Folcagard, and I have a letter from your King--." He faltered, realizing how ridiculous his words must sound.  
  
Mitharas looked at the young 'Master' solemnly.  
  
Seeing that the elf in charge, for so the boy understood Mitharas to be, would not laugh, the boy drew himself up and continued. "My people are hidden yonder. We have your King's promise to aid us, and it is many years old, but we hoped…we hoped he would honor it still."  
  
"We are elves. We do not forget our debts. But what brings you hither now?" Mitharas motioned the child to sit, and followed suit, taking some bread from his cloak.  
  
The child spoke not another word until he had finished the bread and some dried meat. At length, the elf-lord extracted the tragic tale of Folcagard's destruction. Orcs had swarmed from the mountain and besieged the town. The men had put up a brave fight, but in the end, their defenses had given way and most of their people slain. Among the dead was the boy's father, the previous Master of Folcagard. A few women and children had escaped as the town burned; hither this boy had led these survivors, hoping to reach Northern Mirkwood.  
  
Once fed, the boy led them into the woods to a clearing; for mortals, they had disguised their presence rather well. The boy spoke in his own tongue and four women came forward, holding swords and knives. Mitharas waited with some impatience as the women questioned the boy in their own tongue.  
  
"They wish to speak to my great-grandmother and see that all is well, for she has knowledge of such things."  
  
Mitharas smiled. He suddenly knew of whom the boy spoke. "Tell her that Mitharas sends his greetings."  
  
Two of the women remained behind, still holding their weapons, while the other two went further into the woods with the young Master. A few minutes later, a very old woman emerged from the trees.  
  
"If my old eyes do not deceive me, 'tis the elf-lord I knew when I was young. And unchanged as if it were yesterday that I left the little one."  
  
"Ah, but you should find the little one much changed," Mitharas said warmly.   
  
Legolas looked at the woman with reverence. He retained some memory of the blond woman who had nursed him, for the minds of young elves grew more quickly than their bodies. He knelt before the elderly woman and took her withered hands in his. "I am forever in your debt, _Naneth Iphant_. But perhaps now we can repay your kindness." [7]  
  
Viduwyn did not say it, but she knew that the elf had already repaid her. She had felt a shadow upon her in their journey, yet somehow, she had known it would not touch her. Her bond to the baby she had nursed remained strong, as did the magic of his people. Her certainty in this had given her people the courage to pass under the very nose of darkness.  
  
"But why did you not send word for help, as we promised the Master of your village?" Mitharas asked.  
  
A woman - the boy's mother, Mitharas guessed from her protective arm around his shoulder - answered him. "But we did, lord. Yet none came."  
  
"Your messenger must have been waylaid."  
  
"That could not have happened, for we gave our message to the Elder One and a companion visiting him at the time. I delivered it myself."  
  
She meant Aiwendil, and Mitharas wondered at this. True, they had seen little of the wizard in recent years, but Aiwendil had ever been a friend to the men of the Vale. "Was the Elder One to have delivered it?"  
  
"He was. But his companion bid him not, and said he would deliver the message, for he had business in Northern Mirkwood."  
  
Strange! "Describe for me this companion."  
  
"He was old, like the Elder One, and had long, white hair and robes."  
  
Mitharas said no more, but the woman's words troubled him. The sooner they reached the safety of their realm, the better, he judged.  
  
**Northern Mirkwood, 46th Day of Echuir, TA 2509**  
  
Ríadel started as her dreamscapes melted abruptly into the present. She rose and wrapped a shawl about her shoulders. Stoking the fire, she sat in its faint glow. Regrets flitted through her mind; she would miss this wood and the good King she had served for the better part of two ages. Yet in her heart, she felt no uncertainty; the joy of her fëa eased her decision. It was time for her to go.  
  
The Sea had always called to the Falathrin elf, but not as it called to the Sindar of the forests or to the Noldor. No, it had never before beckoned her to cross it - she was content to be near it. Every so often, she made the long journey to Mithlond and stayed there some rounds of the sun, returning with the thick brogue of her people and renewed vigor.  
  
It was not her way to delay once her heart had reached a decision and she set off to see the King as early as practicable.  
  
"You will be missed," Thranduil told her with a sad smile. Yet he understood what compelled her to leave Ennor. The love of his life could not return to him and he could only envy the lady and her rehoused husband.  
  
Nonetheless, his sympathy could not alter the facts of the matter. How was he to honor her request when they could not cross Hithaeglir safely? The fetters that bound his realm grew more monstrous each year and he could not loosen their hold.  
  
Galion interrupted these grim thoughts. "Aranen! An eagle has brought this."  
  
Thranduil took up the message immediately. Out of respect for Manwë's servants, the elves rarely used the eagles as messengers; they did not trouble the great creatures for trivialities. He knew the importance of the letter even before he recognized the seal of Imladris.  
  
The letter from Elrond's councilor was short and terse. Thranduil set it aside wearily. He would have to answer it without delay, but now he lacked the strength. In the recesses of his mind, he could hear the slam of a heavy iron door, hear its bolts thrown fast. The face that peered hopelessly from the barred window was his own.  
  
**Northern Mirkwood, 47th Day of Echuir, TA 2509**  
  
Night had fallen when the party reached the caverns. Having sent Legolas with the women and children of Folcagard to find Galion and arrange their lodging, Mitharas sought the King. He wished he could have put off this meeting until the morn; his tidings would not bring cheer.  
  
Thranduil sat in his library amid discarded sheaves of foolscap and set aside the letter in progress without regret. "Mitharas! I did not expect you to return so soon," he greeted his sister-son. "None have met with misfortune on your journey, I trust."  
  
"Legolas is quite well," Mitharas smiled, answering the King's unspoken question. "But I thought it prudent to return, for things are stirring and my news is not good."  
  
Thranduil grimaced. "I too, have had unfortunate news. Perhaps you should find your cousins and Brónalm, for this affects us all."  
  
When the others had arrived, Mitharas began with the tale of the women of Folcagard. "They sent a messenger to Aiwendil, requesting our help, but it seems it did not reach us."  
  
'Alas, that we have failed in our pledge to those good people!' Thranduil regretted silently.  
  
Brónalm rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yet Folcagard is only the latest settlement in the Vale to be destroyed. We have known for some time that the Balchoth and orcs have killed or chased away the men of the Vale."  
  
Mitharas nodded. "The women of Folcagard report that the Stoors abandoned their hamlet some years ago. Those north of Rhosgobel have escaped unmolested - the enemy must respect Aiwendil's power and its servants fear the Beornings. They know what strength those men possess. But there is more." He continued with the story of the messenger from Gondor. "It seems that the Ylnaid watch the way north."  
  
"It concerns me that the Ylnaid have grown so bold," Innolas said. "Dol Guldur has been careful to mask its strength thus far, though we have never doubted that the thing holding the fortress would reveal itself at the opportune time."  
  
"It seems that this is the opportune time," Thranduil said grimly. "An eagle came just yesterday with news still more grave. Lady Celebrian and her guard were attacked on _Cirith o Charadhras_ by orcs. The lady was taken captive and though her sons have rescued her, she endured great suffering." He glanced at the difficult response that had taken most of the day to compose. Silently, he thanked the Valar that Legolas' foresight had dissuaded Innolas from his journey to Imladris and perhaps a similar fate. [8]  
  
"Ai, it is indeed grievous that this kind lady should suffer so," Mitharas said soberly. "And we must accept that the way west is now closed to us."  
  
Thranduil sighed, having come to that conclusion himself. They found themselves utterly alone, pushed to the farthest corner of a forest the elves had once roamed freely. Should Dol Guldur turn upon them, his people would have nowhere to flee.  
  
Brónalm sensed his King's despair. "We have strength here. The Ylnaid fear us and the Dark Lord has not the power he once had. He will remember the strength of your line. He has not the weapons of the one he served - Morgoth's demons of fire, the balrog and the dragon, are no more." [9]  
  
"So it seems," Legolas interjected, surprising everyone. He wore a troubled expression.  
  
Thranduil suppressed a shudder. He had never seen these fearsome creatures, though he had heard Mablung speak of them in Doriath. He cast a worried look at his son. A moment earlier, he had thanked the Valar for his son's prescience. Now, he recalled how it had affected his sister. Laigil's far sight had at times been more a curse to her than a gift.  
  
As they parted, Thranduil stopped Mitharas. "There is another matter of particular interest to you. Ríadel has announced that she intends to go West."  
  
"We have just established that is impossible." Mitharas chastised himself for his relief at Ríadel's unfortunate timing.  
  
Thranduil nodded. "But Mitharas, she **will** go when the way is safe again. You must accept that."  
  


---------------------------------------------------

  
  
Mitharas found the little hut Ríadel had once shared with Faunil still lit despite the late hour.  
  
"Mitharas! I am surprised to see you. I thought you were to be gone longer." The elf wore a scarf over her hair. Several crates lay half-filled on the table.  
  
"And you hoped to leave before I returned."  
  
She shook her head sadly. "I would have waited until your return."  
  
"It appears you do not plan to wait long at all," he argued, waving his hand at the austere room, stripped of all but essential items.  
  
Ríadel sighed. "I have a great deal to do before I leave. The King has sent word to your sister in Dorwinion, for someone must take my place as _Bassoneth_. Until her granddaughter arrives and knows all that I can teach her, I must remain." [10]  
  
He moved a box from a chair and took a seat. "Faunil did not stay long in the keeping of Mandos."  
  
"He lived blamelessly - he had no regrets, no grievances in death."  
  
'As I cannot claim,' Mitharas thought. Too late, he had forgiven Faunil for loving and capturing the maid he also had desired. "I am afraid you will have longer than you think to train your replacement. The mountains have become impassable. It is too dangerous now to attempt a crossing."  
  
"Mitharas! I have spoken to the King already. He has given me leave. If you will not accompany me, then I will find those who will." Her voice softened. "You, of all people, must understand what compels me to go."  
  
"It is not my decision. Things have changed. I do not speak falsely of the danger, and as Captain of the Guard, I forbid it."  
  
"I will go alone if necessary," she snapped.  
  
"Alone or accompanied, you risk the same fate as the Lady Celebrian. I do not have the authority to stop you, but I will not commit even one of my warriors to a reckless errand."  
  
"The Lady Celebrian! Whatever has befallen her?"  
  
"She was taken by orcs - she has been rescued, but is perhaps not whole."  
  
Ríadel blinked back tears. "That dear lady! But I did not know…it is of course unwise to try the pass now." She sank into a chair, disappointment for her own delay mingled with compassion for the injured lady.  
  
Mitharas paced his chambers restlessly that night, his dreamscapes utterly deserting him. He knew his words left much unspoken, knew that Ríadel deserved compassion, not shameful self-interest. A poor friend he made - he did not wonder that Ríadel had chosen to bond herself to another.  
  


---------------------------------------------------

  
  
Only the deepest snow could keep Thranduil from his morning ride. Sometimes, he rode with one of his sons, sometimes alone, but no matter how much the business of the day pressed upon him, he considered his ride as necessary as food and drink. On this morning, he had asked Innolas to accompany him. Ordinarily, he avoided matters of state during these rides, but the events of the previous night weighed heavy on his heart.  
  
They rode without speaking for a time, holding the horses to a walk, and enjoyed the play of Arien's light through still bare branches of the tall beech trees. Thranduil had spent his entire life among the Silvan folk and their western cousins, the Laegrim of Doriath, and he had learned to find comfort in nature's beauty even in the darkest of times.  
  
"You are concerned about the message that did not get through," Innolas reluctantly broke the silence.  
  
Thranduil smiled wryly. "You know me too well. The description sounds like Mithrandir."  
  
"I cannot imagine that he would have failed to deliver the message. If he were waylaid, he would have found a way to contact us."  
  
His father glanced at him, a grave expression on his face. "There are things I have never told anyone save Elrond, things I will not relate lest you come to harm. Yet this much I will say: I fear that we can no longer trust the Ithryn."  
  
Innolas shook his head vigorously. "We can trust Mithrandir. And though Aiwendil seems distracted, I cannot think that he would fall under the spell of the Shadow. He is a servant of Yavanna and the withering of the forest is as much a grief to him as to our people." The loremaster was silent for a moment. "But Curunír would fit the description." He hesitated. "I do not wish to pass judgment based on resentment - that he would not do as we wished when the White Council met is not reason enough to hold him suspect. We cannot fathom the ways of the Ainur."  
  
"'Do not interfere in matters of the Ithryn,'" Thranduil quoted with a smile.  
  
"But I know that my report troubled you when I returned from the Council." The elf sighed in frustration. "I would feel better if we could consult with Imladris."  
  
"I know. So long, my father only wished us left to our own devices. Now, that has come to pass and I feel as if we are caught in a noose that grows ever tighter."  
  
"That has been done on purpose," Innolas said flatly. "But Brónalm is right - the Shadow would not go to such lengths to isolate us if it did not fear us."  
  
Thranduil nodded. He could still mount an army of considerable size and experience. He had to hope that this threat would hold back assault on his realm. He changed the subject, seeing no reason to dwell on problems that presented no solution. "You will need to go to Dale to discuss the future of our mortal guests with Lord Castram."  
  
Innolas nodded. Theirs was an Elven realm and his father did not wish to encourage mortals to settle within it.  
  
"I do not expect him to refuse us, if we guarantee their support."  
  
Innolas turned this over in his mind. "Are you certain you wish to pledge support of these folk? It could be costly."  
  
"It is the least we can do, given that we could not come to their aid as we promised."  
  


---------------------------------------------------

  
  
"Well done, Adelaeg," Legolas called.  
  
The little elf glowed at these words of praise, and Brónalm smiled. The little ones regarded the young elf-lord with awe, and rightly so - they would never see a more gifted archer. He waited while Legolas dismissed the children. After a long dearth following the end of the Watchful Peace, the Wood-Elves had again begun to bear children; the darkness of the forest around Northern Mirkwood could not dampen their natural resilience for long. The bow-master had engaged the help of his favorite student, for he found he could not give adequate attention to each youngster.  
  
"Have you given thought to the emblem you shall choose?" Brónalm asked as the younger elf took up his bow and aimed at one of the targets.  
  
Legolas grimaced. It was customary among highborn elves to select some embellishment of their lord's herald. It had a practical purpose: in a great battle, such elf-lords would oversee command of the troops, and the standards raised would help to identify the various companies in battle. Mitharas had chosen a stag, Innolas a lamp. Often, an elf revealed his emblem on his fiftieth begetting day, but Legolas still had not settled upon one that seemed right.  
  
In truth, the question ran deeper than his choice of a decoration. He had reached his majority, but the path before him remained obscure. He knew that Innolas had always wished to become a master of lore and that Mitharas came naturally to his role as Captain of the Guard. Legolas had no such leanings. The thought of shutting himself in a dark library filled him with dread, and he preferred to follow rather than lead. As a son of the King, he could not avoid the latter - even Innolas commanded troops at necessity. He enjoyed teaching the young ones, but he had not the stern eye of the Cúcherdir. If he was not meant to be a teacher, a loremaster or a captain, then what was he meant to become? It unsettled him to feel so lacking in purpose. In time, his father had promised, the Lady would show him his way, but thus far, she had proved unforthcoming.  
  
**Ethuil, TA 2510**  
  
With the Lord of Dale's assent, the Folcagard refugees had left Mirkwood to settle in his town. Viduwyn, however, remained in the caverns at the King's request. The old woman deserved some material comforts in her waning years and did not say no to the King's invitation.  
  
Legolas spent much of his free time with her, sitting by the river when the weather was fair or hiding in Gíleg's kitchens when it was not. The elf found a font of wisdom in his one-time nursemaid. Elves revered the elders among them and it appalled them to see that men had so little respect for the old. Still, Viduwyn would have been considered young, even a contemporary of Legolas, were she an elf. It seemed to him that mortals learned timeless wisdom more quickly; if elves too often wallowed in regret, those mortals who became wise in old age saw mistakes and setbacks of the past as experience, as lessons of life. This idea was not new to Legolas, for the Wood Elves held similar beliefs.  
  
"He was a good man, my husband," she said one day, as they sat under a great oak by the river. "Lived to be 80, and that is a ripe age for our kind. He never touched a drop of drink, and he said that accounted for his long life."  
  
"When did he…die?" Legolas asked, looking up from his fletching.  
  
"Oh, it was a long time ago. Some thirty years."  
  
"But mortals can marry again, can they not?"  
  
Viduwyn laughed. "I was too old, child. Too old to bear children, and so not much use, as men see it. And none could take the place of my Dukalan. We loved each other well."  
  
Legolas smiled. "I suppose that is what everyone seeks in taking a spouse. But how do you know that you have chosen rightly?"  
  
The old woman looked sideways at the elf. "Is there a maid you have in mind?"  
  
"More or less," he answered, blushing to the tips of his ears.  
  
"When just a moment with your love seems worth more than time uncounted without her, you will know."  
  
"Yet time uncounted is not for men as it is for elves, for mortals may die."  
  
"And does not death stretch through time uncounted?"  
  
"Then you do not keep hope that you will be reunited in death with your husband?"  
  
"Does not your Pengolodh say that men await the end of Arda in the Houses of Waiting?" [11]  
  
"You have been listening to my brother too much," Legolas laughed. "But what do **you** think is the fate of men?"  
  
"If elves do not know it, how are men to know? But our people hold that a land of song and feasting among the gods awaits us."  
  
"That seems a kinder fate to me."  
  
Viduwyn smiled. "I think I so, too."  
  


---------------------------------------------------

  
  
Mitharas rarely used his own study. When he had to attend to correspondence - a task he fiercely disliked - he usually worked in Innolas' library. Tonight, however, he felt the need to be alone - or, perhaps more accurately, he knew he was not fit company, even for his placid cousin.  
  
More than ever, he was haunted by his failure to make amends with his dear friend Faunil; more than ever, he wondered what gave him the fire to go on. Thranduil had weathered the loss of a wife and the love of his heart because he would always be wed first to his kingdom and people. Innolas had long ago pledged his heart to musty books; young Legolas had that Silvan constancy that permitted him to weather any storm. Mitharas approached his vocation with zealous fervor, dispatching with the enemies of elves without mercy. Yet, he could not say he was wed to his role as Captain. At least, he hoped this was not the case. What happiness could come of bloodshed or vengeance?  
  
He loved Ríadel as he would never love another, and she had chosen another. Though it pained him, he found some reassurance in her nearness, and now he must lose even that.  
  
He wrote carefully lettered but curt responses to captains in distant parts of Northern Mirkwood. Fortunately, they were accustomed to their superior's austere style and would not take offense. He had collected a fair stack of minor matters requiring his attention - of late, he had participated more actively in the oversight of Mirkwood's defense. He needed to occupy himself and quiet his mind, and he had genuine concerns for the realm's security.  
  
Reports from both Dale and his own warriors told of what amounted to a sizeable mobilization, and Mitharas was worried even though the orcs continued south. He had sent a small party of elves to track the orcs, for he feared that they would gather strength and return north to assail Northern Mirkwood. Such intelligence reported that the orcs continued their march well south of the realm before cutting through the forest at the East Bight. They seemed anxious to avoid the elves, but this did not comfort Mitharas, for it only pointed to a strong leader at Dol Guldur. The orcs were preparing for a grand assault - but where?  
  
"Híren?"  
  
Mitharas looked up, grateful for the interruption of this hated chore. "Come in, Brónalm."  
  
The bow-master settled himself in a chair. Mitharas' study was sparsely furnished - it had neither the comfort of Innolas' library nor the elegance of the King's. Brónalm felt at ease here, nonetheless, for his was a simple existence. His hut was but a place to sleep and eat; his home was the forest.  
  
"I understand that you have not yet moved Legolas into the active patrols."  
  
Mitharas nodded.  
  
"Think you not that his skills would be better employed elsewhere?"  
  
"Is he unhappy with his duties?"  
  
"Of course not. He finds his reward in a task well done. He is not one to complain."  
  
Mitharas had the feeling that the Cúcherdir's words had an underlying meaning. "Then what, exactly, is the problem?"  
  
"I think you are sheltering him." Brónalm leaned forward. "I know he is young, and I am no more eager than you to sully his innocence. But he is too fine an archer to waste his talents."  
  
"Can you blame me if I want him to have what I did not? Fifty is not so very old."  
  
The ancient elf put a hand on the Captain's arm. "This is not Mordor. Yes, there is evil about, but there is still much good here. Moreover, you and Legolas are not alike. He finds his strength in the forest and within himself. A few dead spiders will not change him.  
  
"You are much like your grandfather," Brónalm continued with a sad smile. "He was a great King. He won the love and devotion of the Silvan folk, and under his guidance, we again became an ordered people. Yet, in the end, his griefs consumed him. Do not make the same mistake, Mitharas. The present is as it is, and it is a dangerous thing in our kindred to tread the past."  
  


---------------------------------------------------

  
  
Anor still shone brightly when Legolas left the archery range, though he noted the clouds gathering to the west.  
  
"It will rain, I think," Brónalm said as Legolas approached the hut.  
  
The younger elf nodded. "The trees will be glad for it." He disappeared inside, though he left the door open; only at night or in foul weather did the Wood Elves shut up their dwellings.  
  
"The seamstress was here. You are to see her tomorrow so that she can begin work on your summer clothing."  
  
Legolas changed into clean leggings and tunic. He left the hut and sat down on the grass to re-braid his hair. The older elf watched him in amusement; he could not see any stray hairs requiring such care. Elves were meticulous about cleanliness, but Brónalm had never before seen one who actually repelled dirt.  
  
"Have you given more thought as to your emblem? The seamstress will want that."  
  
Legolas shook his head. "Did you always know, even as a child, that you would become a master of archery?"  
  
To his surprise, Brónalm said that he had not. "I knew only that my place was to serve _Heru Denweg_. In his memory I sought to hold my people together after his death, and when I came to your grandfather, I knew him as my lord's heir, and thenceforth I have served your family." [12]  
  
Legolas considered this. He knew that Brónalm was more than a teacher; the ancient elf served as captain and advisor, as keeper of his people's lore and as spiritual guide to his King's family and subjects.  
  
"I know that I wish to serve the realm, but I do not know in what manner, Cúcherdir."  
  
"That I cannot tell you. Your fate is woven already, as it is for all our kindred. Let Ilúvatar's song guide you and even if you cannot see your path, you shall not stray from it." He smiled at the young elf. "Your heart will reveal Ilúvatar's plan to you when you are ready to hear it."  
  
**Late Ethuil, TA 5010**  
  
"Stay, lord. She is not there. She passed during the night."  
  
Legolas looked at Viduwyn's granddaughter quizzically. Slowly, the elf grasped her meaning and turned away, bewildered by this loss. Elves did not die so - they died of injuries or in great angst, but never in their sleep.  
  
The woman put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "She died without fear and without pain. It is all that we mortals can hope for in death."  
  
They buried Viduwyn, as Thranduil had deemed appropriate, in the glade where Legolas' mother and Faunil lay. Her young great-grandson spoke the words of ceremony that the Masters of Folcagard had used for centuries, wishing the woman much joy in the Halls of the Gods.  
  
Afterward, Viduwyn's granddaughter approached Legolas. "You brought contentment to her final days. She saw her last child into adulthood and went to the Halls of the Gods without regret."  
  
Legolas could not find comfort in Viduwyn's peaceful passing. He thought it a great unfairness that Eru would take one of His children, though the woman suffered neither grief nor injury.  
  
Evening fell over the burial ground, where Mitharas found his cousin in vigil over the silent cairns. He sat down next to the younger elf. The upper airs were full of stars and night birds chattered to one another, not the least disturbed by the two elves.  
  
"Brónalm says that the fëar of men mingle to produce the spark of new life."  
  
Mitharas considered this. The notion veered far from the teachings of the Wise, yet he supposed that the ancient elf knew as much as did Rúmil or Pengolodh, for even to the Valar, Ilúvatar had not revealed such things.  
  
"Why is it that our fate is not the fate of men? Why should immortality be given to us and not to them?"  
  
Mitharas gave him a twisted smile. "Death is called the gift of men. You are young yet - you do not know weariness with the world. Perhaps you shall never know it, for does our Cúcherdir not also say that the fate of the Silvan folk is sundered from that of the Eldar?"  
  
"Aye, that he does. And yet I am also of the Sindar." The elf was troubled. "Have you thought to go West with Ríadel?"  
  
The captain stared at his cousin. He had never spoken to the younger elf of his love for the lady. Legolas' perception was sometimes too keen for comfort.  
  
"I am sorry. It is not my place to ask."  
  
"I have felt much sorrow of late, but I am still needed here, I think."  
  
"You are still wanted here, _Gwanur_." [13]  
  
Mitharas squeezed his hand. Yes, he would miss Ríadel. Yet, she had no claim to him. He was bound by ties much stronger to his family - to his King, who referred to him as a son - to Innolas, his companion and his comfort - to young Legolas, his hope and future.  
  
"I think our fate is not so different from that of men. We, too, may die or pass over the Sea, yet we live on in all that we leave behind, in the places and people we have touched."  
  
There could be no life without death, for nature must constantly renew itself. For the first time, it occurred to Legolas that the Firstborn were an aberration of this law. Men had risked everything time and time again to wrestle Ennor from Morgoth and his foul lieutenant. As elves withdrew from a world they no longer understood, men fought to change it. They never ceased in their pursuit of perfection, and this quest, the heritage of men, captivated the young elf.  
  
His mother's great-grandmother had once predicted that Legolas would be a friend to mortals. What this would entail remained murky, but he knew his fate was entwined with the hope of the Abonnen.  
  
Legolas got to his feet. "They will be missing us." As they made their way out of the burial ground, he glanced behind at his cousin. "We have thought ourselves lost, you and me. Yet perhaps we have not been so much lost as unwilling."  
  
Mitharas shook his head at the youngster's words. Still waters indeed ran deep.  
  
**1st Day of Laer (Midsummer), TA 2510** [14]  
  
Legolas found the glade deserted; the Midsummer feast had ended at dawn and elves slept late this day. He had left his boots behind and reveled in the feel of morning dew under his feet. Wrens sang sweet songs to one another and the trees rustled in greeting to the young elf as he walked beneath them. He came to his favorite, an old beech, and pulled himself up into the branches. The leaves danced in a morning breeze, tickling the elf's feet, and the tree purred in adoration of the precious thing it held.  
  
He closed his eyes against the bright rays of the sun and let his mind empty itself, until he was aware only of the tree's loving cradle and the rush of the nearby river.  
  
He found himself in Mirkwood, but it did not look much like Mirkwood. More precisely, it did not feel like Mirkwood. The trees were free and unguarded; animals big and small frolicked under the stars without fear. A horn sounded in the distance. The animals raised their heads and pricked their ears toward the sound of thundering hooves. Whatever was coming, clearly they welcomed it, and the branches of the trees almost danced in happy anticipation.  
  
The air of the forest and his Elven senses told Legolas he had nothing to fear. Still, he did not expect what he saw: a steed of great size, with a coat that shone silver in the twilight, yet in place of neck and head rose the torso of an elf, bow slung across his shoulders. The elf-horse came to a stop before Legolas. [15]  
  
"_Airë Oromë_," he whispered, kneeling in awe. [16]  
  
"You are far from your time, young elf. You walk now in the forest as it was made for the Quendi by Yavanna, though in your day you see ruin of that forest as no elf should see. Yet, I tell you now, the Shadow shall one day be vanquished, and you shall see the forest as it was in your grandfather's day.  
  
"You are to be a hunter, Legolas Thranduilion - a hunter not of deer or boar but of the creatures of Morgoth and his fell lieutenant."  
  
"As you are," Legolas said, looking at the Vala in awe.  
  
"As I am. A great task awaits you, young elf. Your hunt will take you many leagues from these woods, yet in its pursuit shall the forest be reborn."  
  
Legolas opened his eyes to find himself returned to his own time. In grief, he reached out to the trees of his father's realm, for beneath their contentment, he felt their sorrow for their brethren to the south.  
  
To heal the hurts of Arda - for this, the Silvan folk had chosen to remain in these woods, heeding neither the invitation of the Valar nor the threat of Morgoth. It sometimes seemed to Legolas that for each hurt mended, three more were struck by Sauron. He desired nothing so much as to see the forest at last released from the Shadow.  
  
Yet, the Vala's charge would exact its price upon him, he foresaw. It would bring him sorrow. He might lose everything he loved, even his life.  
  
He would take the Great Rider as his emblem. Elves of the wood had long carved this incarnation of the Lord of the Forest into bows and burnt it into their quivers. The image was said to bring Oromë's protection.  
  
Legolas had a feeling he would need it.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
[1] _Nolug-hai_  

    Elves (Black Speech). _Nolug_, 'elven' comes from David Salo's neo-Black Speech as it appears in 'The Treason of Isengard' on _The Fellowship of the Ring_ soundtrack. The ending _-hai_, 'folk' is attested in _LOTR_ and appears in the compounds _Uruk-hai_ and _Olog-hai_.  
  

[2] 41st Day of Echuir  

    The dates are important at the beginning of the story because Tolkien gives exact dates for the events preceding the battle at Parth Celebrant (this story assumes that Celebrian was captured very late in 2509). However, I have to admit that they are not as exact as I would like - I've relied upon Lalaith's excellent calendar for 2941 (ref _Lalaith's Middle-earth Science Pages_ - see my homepage for URL), but the dates of 2509 would not match. However, the Elven calendar did not vary that much from year to year in comparison with the calendar of Gondor - both had to adjust from time to time to keep them in sync with the sun and the seasons. The Elven New Year seems to have varied by about 16 days around the Vernal Equinox. At any rate, even I am not geeky enough to do the math to come up with an accurate calendar for 2509, so I've simply converted the Gondorian dates to the Elven calendar of 2941. (ref _Unfinished Tales_, 'Cirion and Eorl' p 311 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[3] _Ylnaid_  

    Ring-wraiths (Neo-Sindarin). This is derived from Q. _Úlairi_, and literally means, 'hideous being'. For a full etymological explanation, see 'A Proposed Deconstruction of _Úlairi_' on my homepage.  
  

[4] 'perhaps you will send word to my Steward'  

    This is a slight deviation from canon. Three pairs of messengers were sent to the Eothéod in the North to request their help, and the fates of the second two pairs were never known. Of the first two, one was slain by arrows as they passed Dol Guldur and the other reached Framsburg. This fellow is meant to be one of the untold four, so he couldn't have been found by the elves. (ref Unfinished Tales, 'Cirion and Eorl', p 311 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)  
  

[5] _Laegel_  

    Nandorin Elf  
  

[6] _Kelk-ash_  

    lit. 'cold one' (Black Speech). _kelk_, 'cold', isolated from _kelkum_, 'coldness' from David Salo's neo-Black Speech as it appears in 'The Treason of Isengard' on _The Fellowship of the Ring_ soundtrack; _ash_, attested in the Ring Rhyme as 'one'.  
  

[7] _Naneth Iphant_  

    Old Mother  
  

[8] _Cirith o Charadhras_  

    Redhorn Pass  
  

[9] 'the Dark Lord has not the power he once had'  

    Sauron was much weaker in the Third Age than in previous ages. (ref _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_, Letter No 183 p 243 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[10] _Bassoneth_  

    lit. 'bread-giver'. This was the highest-ranking female in an elven society. She alone knew the secret of making lembas.  
  

[11] 'Does not your Pengolodh say that men await the end of Arda in the Houses of Waiting?'  

    The narrator of 'Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth' states that this is only a theory of the elves, not certain fact. I have no idea whether Pengolodh is actually the narrator of this discourse. (ref _Morgoth's Ring_ p 340 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[12] _Heru Denweg_  

    Lord Lenwë (Silvan). _heru_ is derived from PE _kherú_. Proto-Eldarin _kh_ becomes _h_ in Nandorin (attested by _hrassa_). I've assumed that final _-ú_ becomes _-u_ - we have no examples of this, but Nandorin tends to preserve final long vowels as short vowels (though they may become different short vowels - without more evidence, it is impossible to determine). _Denweg_ is attested as the Nandorin name for Lenwë. (ref _The Lost Road_, 'Etymologies'; _The War of the Jewels_, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 412 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  
  

[13] _Gwanur_  

    Kinsman. We lack a word for 'Cousin'.  
  

[14] 1st Day of Laer (Midsummer)  

    The Elvish day technically begins at nightfall.  
  

[15] 'a steed of great size, with a coat that shone silver in the twilight, yet in place of neck and head rose the torso of an elf, bow slung across his shoulders'  

    This is based on the Centaur of Greco-Roman mythology, not Tolkien. I don't mean to deviate from the canon image of Oromë and Nahar, rather to suggest that this was not the only form in which he appeared. The Valar could assume any incarnation they chose, and it would offer a Tolkien-like explanation for the myth of the Centaur in later ages.  
  

[16] _Airë Oromë_  

    lit. 'Holy Oromë' (Q). This is one of those cases in which I think even a Sindarin elf might use Quenya, preferring the formal sound of the language when greeting a Vala. _Airë_ is the proper title to use in addressing one of the Ainur. (ref _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' p 363 pub. Houghton Mifflin)  

  
  



End file.
